


London, Said He

by ureshiiichigo



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Magic, Near Future, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo/pseuds/ureshiiichigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This really hasn't been Merlin's day. Or week. Or month, really. Seeing his best friend die in front of him was bad enough. But magicking himself into the future in order to save Arthur? Probably not as good an idea as it seemed on paper. And this future version of Gwaine will not stop hitting on him. Even in front of the future Arthur - talk about embarrassing. Especially since Merlin needs to get to know this Arthur if he's ever going to figure out how to save his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> It really does take a village. Thanks so much to percygranger and messyangel81, the best betas a girl could ask for; to numberthescars for the gorgeous cover image and divider; to desiderii for holding my hand, listening to me when I whined, and countless pots of shared tea; to jbuggy for cheering me on and offering advice, even though I kept forgetting to email her; to go_fishboys for sharing her writing block pain; to the_muppet for organizing this madhouse; and to everyone in the paperlegends community for being so awesome.

> _At the end of an hour we saw a far-away town sleeping in a valley by a winding river; and beyond it on a hill, a vast gray fortress, with towers and turrets, the first I had ever seen out of a picture._  
>  _"Bridgeport?" said I, pointing._  
>  _"Camelot," said he._  
>  \-- Mark Twain,  A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

Merlin sighed as he struggled to keep pace with the rest of the knights. He shifted his pack on his shoulders as he stumbled down the dusty pathway back to Camelot. The bloody thing had all of his belongings, as well as Arthur’s, so it practically weighed more than he did. Only Gwaine was still in earshot, the rest of the group marching up ahead. Arthur was up near the front, shouting orders at the knights and arguing quietly with Leon.

“So,” Gwaine said, nudging Merlin with an elbow as they ambled along at the back of the group. “Have you told him yet?”

Merlin glared at his friend and adjusted his pack once more. Not that it did any good. “Told him what?”

Gwaine gestured wildly with his hands. “You know! How you feel, all that bollocks.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “Sure I have.”

Gwaine frowned, tilting his head back as if to get a better look at Merlin. “You… have?”

“I tell him pretty much daily. He’s a prat, and a git, and a clot pole, and an idiot.”

Gwaine barked out a sharp laugh before he managed to turn it into a cough. Percy, who was marching in front of them a way, turned and threw a raised eyebrow in their direction before facing back front. Gwaine leaned closer to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “Don’t be dense, Merlin.”

“Look,” Merlin hissed, “just because _you_ sleep with everyone and everything you can get a leg over, doesn’t mean I—”

Gwaine smirked. “So you _do_ know what sex is. I’d thought you were completely ignorant, considering how often you ignore my jokes.”

“I ignore your jokes because they aren’t funny.”

“Sure they are,” Gwaine said, clapping a broad hand on Merlin’s shoulder, making him stumble a few steps. Merlin glared at him sullenly once he’d regained his footing. Gwaine merely grinned, unblinking in the face of his ire. “I wasn’t talking about sex, you know.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

“Oh, come off it, Merlin. Everyone sees the way you look at him.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Like you can talk. I’ve seen the way you look at Percy.”

“Shut up,” Gwaine hissed, elbowing him in the side. “That’s entirely different.”

Sensing this was a battle he couldn’t win, Merlin asked, “Any recent conquests?”

Gwaine grinned broadly, his shoulders falling slack, seemingly as glad for the change in subject as Merlin was. “Well, _someone_ sent me a love letter the other day.”

“Yeah? Was it Gaius?”

Gwaine smacked the top of Merlin’s head good-naturedly. “Not Gaius, you arse. It was from a secret admirer.”

“How d’you know it wasn’t Gaius, then?”

Gwaine wrinkled his nose. “I’d recognise the old fart’s handwriting.”

“He’s a clever one, you know. He’s smart enough to disguise his penmanship when writing anonymous love letters.”

Gwaine grinned at Merlin. “How do I know it wasn’t from you, then?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Never going to happen, Gwaine.”

“Not even a kiss?”

“No.”

“You’re a cruel, cruel man, Merlin.”

“My life of servitude has made me bitter and angry.”

Gwaine followed Merlin’s gaze to where Arthur was laughing at some joke Leon had made. “Aye, that it has. I can see how much you hate your master.”

“Oh, shut it, Gwaine.”

Merlin could feel his face heat as Arthur glanced back at them, raising an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin stuck his tongue out at his prince, who merely grinned before turning back to Leon.

“I’m just saying, Merlin…”

Merlin jabbed Gwaine with his elbow, and both men spent the rest of the walk in silence. Gwaine, however, kept sneaking amused glances in Merlin’s direction, which Merlin pretended not to notice.

When they finally reached the castle, Arthur waved off Leon and turned back to look at Merlin. “Hurry up, Merlin. I haven’t got all day.”

“Of course, sire. I live to serve.”

Gwaine snorted from behind them, and Merlin studiously ignored him.

When he finally caught up to Arthur, they proceeded up the stairs of the castle in silence. Merlin shot Arthur a look from the corner of his eye every so often, but the other man was simply staring straight ahead, cloak flowing behind him majestically, hair ruffled artistically. In other words, Arthur looked every inch the prince he was. Whereas Merlin, with his shabby tunic, oddly fluffy hair sticking out every which way, and two gigantic ears as big as saucers, looked like a complete idiot.

When they finally arrived at Arthur’s private chambers, Merlin let the pack thud to the floor with a sigh of relief, rubbing his aching shoulders.

“Oi,” Arthur reprimanded, though his stern tone was undercut with an amused grin flickering at the edges of his mouth. “You had best not break my belongings, Merlin.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sire.” Merlin stretched, arms reaching up towards the ceiling, feeling his joints pop and revelling in the pull of his aching muscles.

When Merlin opened his eyes back up, Arthur jerked away, a guilty expression flickering across his face, as though he’d been doing something he oughtn’t.

Arthur cleared his throat as his gaze returned to meet Merlin’s. “You’ll need to wash my clothes and polish my armour,” Arthur said. “And check on the stables. Lord knows how filthy they’ve gotten since you’ve been gone.” Arthur raised an eyebrow when Merlin wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “That can wait until tomorrow, though.”

“Anything else?” Merlin asked, settling to lean against the door frame as he watched Arthur putter about his room, shuffling the papers on his desk.

Arthur glanced up at Merlin briefly before returning his attention back to his desk. “I’ll need help removing my armour, naturally.”

“Of course.” Merlin moved to start unbuckling Arthur’s plate mail. “Does Gwen know you’re back?”

Arthur shot him a pointed look before raising his arms so that Merlin had access to the side buckles. They worked in silence for a few moments before Arthur raised his gaze to meet Merlin’s. “Why would she care?”

Merlin’s hands stilled on the smooth metal, just for a moment, before he moved to lift the plate over Arthur’s head. “I’ve no idea, Arthur. Why would anyone who cared about you want to know you were still alive after coming back from a patrol?”

Arthur bit his lip, but said nothing.

Merlin slid his hands under the chain mail vest Arthur wore, hands lingering over the thick fabric of Arthur’s tunic. He could feel the soft shift of Arthur’s chest breathing in and out, the steady thump of his heartbeat. It was as close as Merlin would ever get to touching Arthur’s skin in a caress. Arthur raised his arms as Merlin lifted the mail over his head, smoothing it out on the bed. “Did you want me to prepare a bath?”

“No. It’s fine.”

Merlin hesitated, lingering in the doorway as Arthur moved behind the screen to strip out of his now-sweaty tunic and trousers, and change into his bed clothes. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Arthur’s hands stilled behind the screen, and he shot Merlin a pointed look from over the top, mouth tweaking into a half-smile. “When do you ever not, Merlin?”

Merlin barked out a laugh as he backed through the doorway. “And just for that, tomorrow I’m going to call you dollop head.”

Arthur grimaced. “Better than clotpole.”

As Merlin was shutting the door behind him, he paused, just long enough to say, “Sleep well, sire.”

The last thing Merlin heard was Arthur’s voice ringing out, echoing into the hallway, “No thanks to you!”

After a night of tossing and turning, Merlin finally gave up on any pretence of sleep.

“Merlin.” Arthur glared from under his duvet as Merlin slipped through the door to Arthur’s chambers. “What are you doing?”

Merlin set down the porridge he was holding onto Arthur’s breakfast table, before he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open. The sun hadn’t yet risen; the sky was still a shade of dusky grey with the faintest hint of pink at the horizon. “Getting a fresh start. It’s a beautiful day.” He spun around, lifting his arms theatrically. “Rise and shine!”

Arthur groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head. “I hate it when you’re cheerful before breakfast.”

Merlin hummed happily, laying down the place setting for Arthur’s breakfast. “Don’t worry, I still haven’t forgotten about calling you a dollop head.”

“Praise the gods,” Arthur mumbled from inside his blanket cocoon. He flung the covers aside, sitting up and rubbing his hands through his hair. “Really, though, Merlin. You never get up this early. Did you just spend the night in the tavern and come straight here instead of going to sleep?” He sniffed at the air pointedly, wrinkling his nose. “It would explain the smell.”

“No, that would be you, Arthur.”

“Oi!” Arthur said, flinging a pillow at Merlin’s head. “Which one of us is prince, here?”

“Yes, well, that just goes to show that titles aren’t everything.” Merlin squatted to pick up the pillow from where it had landed on the floor at his feet, and made his way over to the bedside.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his face solemn, though Merlin could sense the grin hovering just below the surface. “Your highness.”

“Titles aren’t everything, _your highness_.”

“That’s better.”

Merlin grinned and shoved at Arthur’s shoulder. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.” He walked back to the breakfast table and pulled out the chair for Arthur to sit.

Arthur stood up, stretching, and wandered over. “It’s gone cold, Merlin.” Arthur frowned dubiously at the no-longer-steaming bowl of porridge.

“Has not,” Merlin lied. “You just waited too long to eat it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and settled in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Bring me another.”

Merlin tried to hold back his grin, he really did. “Another what? Another prince? Afraid we only have one of those available.”

“Shame. Sure you don’t have a spare tucked away somewhere?”

“Sadly, no. It certainly would come in handy, wouldn’t it? Having a spare prince.”

“I’d be able to sleep in, for once.”

Merlin snorted.

“What?”

“You already sleep in, you lazy sod.”

“I was up before _dawn_ today, I’ll have you know!” Arthur gestured animatedly at the window, where the first rays of sun were peeking out from under a layer of low flung clouds.

“Only because I woke you!”

“So?”

Merlin laughed, and his smile softened as he looked down at Arthur. “I wish every day could be like this.”

“Like what?” Arthur, too, had gone soft, his smile a gentle curve and his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Merlin just shrugged in response. They were silent a moment, just looking at each other, before Arthur tore his gaze away and cleared his throat. “Don’t forget to polish my armour.”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin started to make his way towards the door as Arthur picked up a spoon and started stirring the porridge.

“Put some elbow grease in, Merlin. I want to see my face reflected in it.”

“So vain.”

“Don’t talk back to your betters, Merlin.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sire.” Merlin shut the door behind him with a smile on his face.

Merlin was mucking out the stables when he felt it — a clenching sensation low in his belly, and a fear that seized his chest. His magic crackled in his fingertips, and he was just setting down his bucket on the stable floor when he heard the warning bells chiming, a slow, mournful sound.

He dashed up the steps to the castle without thinking, nausea churning in his stomach as he ran.

The castle was in an uproar. Merlin shoved his way past guards and servants alike as he made his way to Gaius’ chambers, the feeling of unease growing as he went.

Gwaine and Percival were standing outside the door of Gaius’ chambers, looking pale. When Merlin tried to run past, Gwaine reached out to grip Merlin’s arm.

“Merlin—“ Gwaine managed, but his voice sounded strangled.

“What’s happened?” Merlin wrenched his arm free and stared at Gwaine. The other man refused to look him in the eye, and Merlin’s nausea worsened. “Who is it?” Merlin knew the meaning of those bells, but more than that, he trusted the distressed writhing of his magic. Someone had died. Someone important. “Is Gaius all right?”

Gwaine swallowed visibly, but said nothing.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Merlin warned. His heart was thundering in his chest.

Gwaine simply averted his eyes and stepped back. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.” This time he did not try to hold Merlin back as he threw open the door to Gaius’ chambers and stormed inside.

Only to see Gaius, sitting in his customary chair, his back to the door, clutching Gwen’s hand and stroking her hair as she knelt on the floor, crying into his lap.

“Gaius?” Merlin called.

Gaius turned and Merlin could see his face was solemn, eyes tinged with a sadness Merlin had not seen since he had learned of Balinor’s passing. “Merlin.”

It was only then that Merlin saw the form stretched out on the cot in front of Gaius and Gwen. His skin was so very pale, blond hair falling in a mess across his forehead. Merlin tried to move forward to take his place at Arthur’s side, only to find that his legs had somehow stopped working. Try as he might, he could not take a single step.

Gwen looked up at Merlin, eyes puffy and red from crying. “He’s gone, Merlin.”

“What?”

“Ar— Arthur. He’s…” Gwen shook and buried her face in Gaius’ lap once more.

Merlin was next to the cot before he realised his muscles were working again. He stretched out a hand to touch Arthur’s cheek. It was still warm. “I don’t…”

Gaius’ voice echoed dully in the room, unable to mask the sound of Gwen’s sobs. “Prince Arthur is dead.”

Merlin turned back to Gaius. “No. It’s not— I was just speaking with him this morning. He told me to polish his armour. He was fine then. He was _fine_. He’s not—“

“Merlin,” Gwen interrupted, her voice cracking on the second syllable.

Merlin stared at her, silent, for a long moment, before falling to the floor as his knees gave out underneath him.

“Merlin,” a voice called. There was a pressure on his arm, tugging, trying to make him let go. But he was holding on to Arthur. He couldn’t let go. Letting go would mean…

“Merlin,” the voice repeated, more insistent. “Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin blinked and looked up into Gaius’ familiar features. “Merlin, you have to leave.”

“I… what?”

Gaius’ eyes fell shut, and his hand slipped from Merlin’s arm. Merlin looked around the room, startled to notice that Gwen was gone. It was just the three of them now, Merlin, Gaius, and... He glanced at the bed, at the prone figure whose arm he was clutching.

Gaius’ gentle voice interrupted any further thoughts. “You need to leave Camelot, Merlin.”

Merlin blinked rapidly at his uncle. “What? Why?”

“There has been talk, Merlin. Uther believes you to be responsible for…” Gaius looked over at Arthur’s body and his lips tightened.

It took a few moments for the implication to sink in. “Uther thinks that I— that I murdered…” He shut his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“There is no time for this, Merlin!” Gaius snapped. “You must leave the city, as soon as possible, or you will be _executed_!”

Merlin gripped Arthur’s cold wrist tightly before struggling to his feet. His legs trembled as pinpricks of pain flooded his muscles.

“Let go, Merlin,” Gaius said, his voice gentle.

“What?”

Callused fingers lay on top of Merlin’s, and he blinked down at his hand, which was still gripping Arthur’s wrist. With a heavily indrawn breath, he forced his fingers loose, and Gaius brought Merlin’s fist close to his chest.

“This is a dream. It must be. Morgana has bewitched me. All I need to do is wake up.”

Gaius shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you must go while you still can.”

The next few moments were a blur for Merlin, as Gaius thrust a loaded satchel in his arms and ushered him into the deserted hallway. Merlin was alone until he found himself, standing still as stone, outside of Arthur’s chambers. If he just opened the door, perhaps this would all turn out to be a bad dream…

“Merlin.” Leon was at his side, gripping his shoulder tightly. When had he gotten there?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in Merlin’s ear. “I told you to run, you idiot.” Ignoring Merlin’s confused look, Leon straightened and twisted Merlin’s arm behind his back. “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of the crown prince.”

By the time they had reached the doors to the throne room, Merlin had gathered his wits around him enough to at least maintain awareness of his surroundings. Leon’s grip on his arm was firm, but not over-rough; his remorse was apparent in his gait and his tense shoulders as much as in the guilty glances he kept throwing Merlin’s way as they marched down the corridor.

“… have suffered a great loss today,” Uther said, his voice echoing around the throne room. An assortment of knights and nobles filled the halls, heads bowed in respect as the king continued. “My son would have been a great king, and a fine ruler. My only wish is to bring his killers to justice. Sir Leon!” He stepped forward, cloak swishing behind him, and Leon’s grip tightened on Merlin’s arm. “Bring forward the boy.”

Merlin was pushed forward roughly, stumbling and falling to kneel before Uther. Two knights gathered around him, pushing down on his shoulders. The edge of Leon’s scabbard dug into the back of his head. Merlin kept his head bowed, looking at Uther’s boots, dark against the wooden floor.

“He was seen in the prince’s chambers, your Majesty,” Leon said. “At the time of his death.”

“I wasn’t,” Merlin said. “I was in the stables.” Leon coughed, his stance shifting behind Merlin; Merlin attempted to look up at Leon, but his scabbard simply dug further into the back of his skull. “I haven’t seen Arthur since—“

“Silence!” Uther shouted. “Sir Leon, please continue.”

Leon cleared his throat. “He said the prince’s drink had been poisoned.”

“Did you see Arthur drink it?”

“No, my liege.”

“Then that proves nothing.” Uther growled and the sound of his boot stamping the floor reverberated through Merlin’s skull.

Merlin’s thoughts raced - he hadn’t been anywhere near Arthur at the time of death, but Leon sounded so certain. Did he have a dopplegänger, somewhere in the castle? It must have been the murderer, disguised as Merlin, trying to throw Leon off the scent! “It could have been sorcery!”

He managed to crane his neck to look up at Leon, who was now looking at him as though he were mad. “What are you _talking_ about?” Leon asked.

Uther sounded more defeated than angry when he spoke. “We have ruled out sorcery as an option; the boy is obviously lying. Furthermore, he denies his presence at the scene, in direct contradiction to the word of a knight. This is plain evidence of guilt.”

“No! I wouldn’t kill Arthur!” Merlin struggled to rise to his feet, and several knights pushed him forward, forcing his head back down so the only thing he could see were the king’s feet.

“Enough!” The boots withdrew, receding from Merlin’s view. “Take the boy to the dungeons. He will be executed at dawn.”

“Wait!” Merlin shouted, as the knights flanking him wrestled him back to his feet. “I didn’t kill Arthur — someone else did. You have to find out who it was!”

Uther had his back to Merlin, shoulders slumped, but when he turned to look at Merlin, his gaze was icy enough to send shivers down Merlin’s spine. “Do not try to talk yourself out of this, traitor. You will pay for what you did to my son.”

After being escorted to the dungeons, Merlin had paced back and forth within his cell until overcome with exhaustion. Now, he curled up on a straw pallet in the far corner of his cell, huddling against the cold dungeon walls. He stirred from a fitful slumber to the sound of heavy footsteps.

“Merlin,” Gaius called out, his voice pitched in a harsh whisper.

Merlin said nothing.  This was not the first night Merlin had spent in the dungeons, but it looked as though it would be the last. All Merlin could think was that if Arthur was gone, it was just as well that he was to be executed.

“Merlin, come here. I think I may have found a way to fix this.”

Merlin dragged his eyes open and looked up to the hunched figure pressing his face in between the bars of the cell.

“Merlin, don’t just _sit_ there. Do you want to save Arthur, or not?”

“I can’t save Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice cracking. “He’s dead.”

Gaius simply sighed. “Come here, Merlin.”

Merlin struggled to his feet and came up to the bars. Gaius handed him a folded slip of parchment. “This is very ancient, very powerful—“ Gaius looked over his shoulder, nervous. “You must cast this before your execution. It is a transportation spell. It will allow you to find exactly what you need to cure Arthur.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He had never heard of such magic before.

“It is,” Gaius paused, eyes flitting away from Merlin’s, “what your father used, a long time ago. To save your mother.”

“What?”

Gaius frowned, placing a long index finger against his pursed lips. “Hush. No one must know that this exists. But when Uther’s men first found Balinor after he fled to Ealdor… they did not succeed in arresting him. But they did fatally wound your mother.”

Merlin simply stared down at the parchment in his now-trembling hands.

“He used this spell to bring her back from death. I do not know how; he would not tell me. But he entrusted this spell to my care, should I ever have need of it.”

Merlin jolted as Gaius brushed Merlin’s knuckles with the tip of his index finger. “I must leave you now.”

Merlin simply nodded, and Gaius slipped quietly back up the stairs. Merlin unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Focusing on Arthur’s image, Merlin closed his eyes and murmured the words from the parchment, over and over, until his knees gave out and his breath failed him.

Merlin blinked, his vision slowly clearing, as he grew aware of his new surroundings. He was on the floor of someone’s sleeping quarters, lying on his stomach with his head turned to the left, a duvet hanging in front of his face from the bed towering in front of him. His left arm was trapped underneath his chest, pressed uncomfortably into cool, smooth stone. As he pushed himself up on his elbows, he heard a familiar snort behind him. “Merlin? Back already?” The shuffle of footsteps inched closer. “What are you doing on the floor, of all things?”

Merlin blinked as he rose to a sitting position, craning his neck to look up at Arthur’s smile — the corners of his mouth twitching up with exasperated amusement, and his eyebrows cocked in puzzlement. He felt dizzy, but his joy at seeing Arthur alive and whole overrode his fear. “I was inspecting the floor for cracks, sire. Terrible business. Sign of rot.”

Arthur lifted one eyebrow and the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth. “In a stone floor?”

Merlin nodded as he rose to his feet, dusting off the back of his breeches with his hands. “Even more dangerous than in a wood floor, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Merlin hesitated, eyeing Arthur critically. He appeared to be healthy. In fact, he looked perfectly fine. “Are you sure you’re all right, sire?”

“You’re not the one who should be asking that question.” Arthur’s smile faded, and he scrunched his eyebrows together in that way of his that meant, _Are you really as daft as you look, Merlin, or are you even worse than that?_

Merlin shook his head. “It’s just, I…” And then he realised — _it_ hadn’t happened yet. Whatever it was that had killed Arthur had yet to occur. Merlin had a chance to stop it. He just needed to figure out how.

Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes, and moved to sit at the breakfast table. He was halfway through gathering a large bite of porridge when Merlin registered the danger.

“No!” Merlin shouted, lunging for Arthur’s spoon.

_Have you gone mad?_ said Arthur’s eyebrows, but his mouth only managed, “Merlin!” before they were both sprawled on the tile, the chair knocked to the floor, sticky porridge coating Merlin’s hair, elbows lodged in the tender flesh of bellies and ribs, and Merlin’s hand gripping Arthur’s wrist as the spoon fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Merlin stared at the spoon. “I ah, just remembered that your porridge was cold. You wanted me to get you a new one.”

“Merlin, I don’t know what your problem is this morning—“ and here he made a half-hearted attempt to shove Merlin off his chest, “—and I don’t want to know. What I _do_ want is to eat my breakfast in peace, and carry on with my day.”

Merlin, still sprawled over Arthur, his belly warm under the fabric of his tunic (and Merlin really needed to stop noticing such things; he had more important problems to worry about right now), reached for the spoon loosely gripped in Arthur’s palm and sniffed suspiciously at the porridge.

“Get off me, you oaf!” Arthur managed to roll both of them over, so that this time Merlin was the one trapped between Arthur’s legs as he pushed off the floor with a grunt. “You’re insane, Merlin,” Arthur said, as he lifted himself to his feet.

Merlin was still laying on the floor, blood thrumming through his veins and heart beating unnaturally fast.

Then Arthur was reaching for his goblet, and before he had the clarity of mind to stop him, Arthur had downed the whole thing and turned to regard Merlin with a softening in his eyes. “Lord knows why I like you so much.”

And Merlin saw as Arthur collapsed, his knees giving out from under him.

No breaths fluttered from his mouth and nose. No heartbeat thudded under Merlin’s palms, curled around Arthur’s chest and back.

“Gaius!” Merlin shouted. “Someone!”

“Merlin?” a voice cried out from behind the heavy oak door to Arthur’s chambers.

“Arthur, he—“

The door burst open, and Leon rushed in, stumbling to a halt as he saw Arthur lying limp in Merlin’s embrace.

“He’s not breathing.”

Leon stumbled forward, gently extricating Arthur from Merlin’s hold. “What happened?”

“He drank from the goblet, and collapsed—“

“What did the goblet contain?”

“Water, it was just water.” He looked down at Arthur’s prone form and then quickly away. He needed to _think_ , and seeing Arthur like this wasn’t helping. “It must have been poisoned, but when? I brought it up for Arthur’s breakfast, I poured it myself!”

Leon’s face paled. “Merlin. Did you—“

This was not right. Merlin had failed; Arthur was (still) dead. But now he knew that the goblet contained a poison. Merlin simply needed to go back and stop Arthur from drinking. Doubts, however, had already begun to creep in at the edge of Merlin’s consciousness. Arthur had also eaten the porridge, hadn’t he? Or it could have been an enchantment, something Merlin hadn’t seen, and he couldn’t risk going back a third time and being seen by Arthur more than once—

“You must leave,” Leon said, interrupting Merlin’s train of thought. His jaw clenched as he rose to his feet. “ _Now_. If I find you in Camelot, I will have no choice but to arrest you.”

Merlin blinked, his mind still spinning with how to go back and try to save Arthur once more. The meaning of Leon’s words finally sank in, and he jerked back in alarm. “What?” Merlin’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “No!”

“The prince has been poisoned, most likely by your hand, Merlin. Whether you meant it or not. Leave. Before I change my mind!”

“Take him to Gaius, he might be able to—“

“I will! Now _go_!”

Merlin fled.

He quickly ducked into a dark corner in the corridor outside Arthur’s chambers, heart pounding in his ears. He crowded against the stone wall, barely daring to breathe, as two guards marched past his hiding place.

Merlin needed more time to form a plan and to determine what had poisoned Arthur, and how. But he would find no solace here. He had already failed to save Arthur once, and he could not afford to make any more mistakes.

He could feel his magic pooling at the edges of his fingertips, desperate to escape. This time, the words rolled off of his tongue more easily, and it only took two tries before he felt a warm sensation in his belly. In a rush of power, his magic swirled through and around him.

_I can’t lose him,_ he thought, as darkness closed in around him _. Give him back to me._


	2. Let's Do the Time Warp Again

The first thing Merlin noticed, before even opening his eyes, was the noise.

Albion was not a silent place, of course. The melodic twitters of the birds, the constant burble of water rushing through the aqueducts of the castle, the intermittent clangs of the metalsmith, and the soft whinnies of the horses in their stables all filled Merlin’s waking hours. At night, as he fell asleep, Merlin took comfort in the ins and outs of Gaius’ soft breathing and the rustle of his bedding as he shifted in his sleep.

These were not the sounds he heard now. Instead, there was a dull murmur everywhere; the chatter of dozens of people, loud thumping that threatened to shatter his eardrums, a strange buzzing in the background like the fluttering wings of a swarm of insects. All of these strange whooshes and clatters and clangs were giving him a headache; there was so much noise he felt his head was going to burst open.

The smells, too, confounded him; he did not smell manure or the sweat from the knights after a morning training session, nor were there the savoury smells from the kitchen of mead and honey and roasted meat. Instead, he smelt ale and piss and smoke, acrid and foul. When he took in a lungful of breath, the chill and smoke burned his lungs, and he sputtered out the foul-tasting air in a cough.

When Merlin finally did crack open his eyes, he could not see the stars. He had a momentary flash of panic as he looked up and saw the full moon straight above his head. The sky was a strange pink as though it were close to dawn. Tall walls towered above him; much taller than a wall designed to fence in a pasture, these must be buildings. The texture was smooth, not rough like normal stone, and painted with strange decorations in bright colours.

The colour of the sky likely had to do with the towering poles mounted with lantern light, pointing straight up towards the heavens and casting a glow farther than any candle’s flame. The light they cast was unyielding; it did not flicker, but instead seared his eyeballs until he was forced to look away.

Behind him, the alcove led to a dead end - more walls, rising high, and a dingy metal box seated at the far end, almost as large as an entire room. It was brimming with what appeared to be wood scraps and broken crates, the outside coloured a buttery yellow that reminded Merlin of egg yolk.

Underneath him, the ground was hard and cold; stone, instead of packed dirt, lined in neat squares. The wind whispered and bit at his skin, causing him to huddle deeper into his jacket.

Two men tumbled into the strange alcove, one with his arm thrown over the other’s shoulders, panting and leaning on him heavily. Merlin felt a wave of nausea as he imagined a different face on those shoulders - one with blond hair, blue eyes, and a solid smile.

The two men staggered to the wall and the one who had been leaning on his companion vomited onto the ground. The other man slapped his back and spoke to the man in a teasing tone, but Merlin could only make out snatches of their speech. Some of the words the man spoke were foreign, and his accent was strange, but the rest sounded like English, at least.

Their clothes, too, were odd. From what Merlin could see, both men wore similarly revealing cloth, with dark blue breeches that clung to their forms, outlining the muscles of their legs, and tunics that fell not even to the waist. The man who was half bent over after emptying the contents of his stomach faced away from Merlin, and his tunic was so short that a large wedge of the man’s pale back was revealed. The sleeves were cut short and fitted to his arms, showing the muscles there, as well. Merlin had seen Arthur wearing less - he was his manservant, after all - but never in front of others. These men were not in private quarters, but out in the open. Surely they did not wish to be seen so... exposed?

Perhaps they were whores; Merlin grimaced at the thought of being stranded in a less-than-savoury part of a city he did not recognise.

Once they were both gone, Merlin stood and stretched. Right now, he should probably try to figure out where - or possibly when - he was. He strode to the end of the pathway, where the two men had vanished.

The sight that met his eyes was not, exactly, what Merlin had been expecting. His knees gave out and he clung to the stone wall next to him for support.

If he’d doubted it before, he certainly knew it now - he was not in Camelot anymore.

He seemed to be in a strange city full of tiny boxy castles built of smooth stone, decorated with garish emblems and flashing lights in all sorts of colours. There were broad, grey thoroughfares, similar to the one on which he was currently standing, which served as platforms for colourful travelling boxes - chariots of some sort - with light sources and leather wheels and people trapped inside, presumably controlling them. And the people - there were masses of peasants roaming about, in all manner of fanciful, and obscene, dress. Some were even less fully clothed than the two men he’d just seen exiting this alcove. Surely they weren’t all whores? He saw no one in proper dress, and realised with a surge of panic that he would be spotted almost instantly based on his garments alone. Already, some of the passers by were throwing him odd looks. Once he recovered the feeling in his legs, he hurriedly dodged back into the alcove to regain his bearings.

He thought back to the garments he’d seen the two men wearing. Surely he could use magic to adapt his current clothing to something of a similar style? But there was the possibility that magic was punished even more strenuously in this place than it had been in Camelot. He had to be careful.

He slid to his knees as the thought of Arthur filled his head. It was too much, too fresh, and he found himself shaking as he hunched into himself, back pressed against cold stone. He lost track of how long he had spent, eyes scrunched tight against the strange sights of the city around him, before he finally cracked open his eyes to see the grey light of pre-dawn in the sky above him.

Calmer now, Merlin searched inside himself for the familiar tingle of magic, only to find that there was nothing there. His limbs felt hollow, his extremities numb. His desperation to save Arthur must have completely exhausted his stores.

With a grunt, Merlin pushed himself onto his feet. With no magic, and in a strange place, Merlin would have to find food and shelter without being spotted by any enemies. And in this land, anyone could be his enemy.

By sunrise, Merlin was in a foul mood.

The worst thing was the thirst. Since coming to this accursed hellhole (Merlin’s thoughts were not on a particularly charitable track at the moment), he had found no place to gather food or fresh water. Where were the water pumps of Camelot? The fields of berries and mushrooms? 

Everything here was cold and dead and artificial, stone and iron. There were echoes of familiarity in places - old, crumbling brick and wood houses; trees, though planted in strange, linear fashion, and placed so the outspread branches would not touch each other, like an inefficient orchard. They seemed to function only as decoration, instead of as a means to produce fruit. The thoroughfares crisscrossed at regular intervals, marked by towering metal poles dotted with lanterns in red and green. In some places, the ground was formed of smooth stone tile, and in others, it was a light grey material Merlin had never seen before, rougher than hewn stone, as though formed of a multitude of pebbles smashed together and only partially smoothed down. 

The overall effect was utterly alien.

Merlin whimpered as he hugged his knees to his chest and cradled his aching head in his hands, tucked into an isolated alcove near where he had entered this strange place. His exploration in the early pre-dawn light had yielded no results; he still had no idea where he was, he had no water or food, and he had no idea what _any_ of this had to do with helping Arthur.

He was startled out of his dark thoughts by the sound of footfalls near his hiding place.

“I saw him back here,” a young man’s voice said. Merlin shrank back against the rough brick behind him, his eyes darting wildly for a hiding place. The yellow container was a short run away; he would have to risk exposure, but it would provide cover in case the men were hostile.

“There’s no one here, Alex.”  This voice was female, still holding the bright cadence of youth, but with an overlying weariness that obscured the woman’s true age. “Are you sure you saw him?”

“No, I swear.” The voices were getting closer now, echoing against the high brick walls. “John was barfing his guts out, and I saw movement behind us. It was this kid wearing, like, a bizarre costume. Something you’d see on the telly.”

Their footfalls struck dull thuds against the stone pathway. Merlin looked once more toward the yellow box. If he were going to make a run for cover, he needed to do it now. Whoever these people were, they were not here by chance — they were looking for _him_.

The footsteps stilled. “Come on, this is _stupid_ ,” the woman said, and Merlin took his chance to run. His heart pounding, Merlin squirmed into the gap between the metal container and the brick wall behind it. 

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

The sound of shuffling drifted over to Merlin’s hiding place. The man spoke, uncertain. “Maybe he’s not here.”

“Shut up, Alex!” the woman said, her voice now filled with laughter. “You don’t have to make up stories, you know.” There was a pause. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, dragging me to a deserted alley in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night! It’s half seven—“

All Merlin heard after that was the soft brush of skin and occasional rustles of clothing. He poked his head out of his hiding spot, just a fraction, to see what was happening—

The woman was younger than he’d thought, likely a few years younger than himself, with hair of an alarming bright blue colour that fell past her shoulders. Her companion was taller than her, but all Merlin could see was the back of his head as he leant down to place kisses on the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered as her hands wrapped around his waist and stroked up and down his back — and then she stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, as she looked straight at Merlin.

Merlin froze, not daring to breathe, and the woman blinked, her expression changing from open-mouthed surprise to delight, her eyes softening, her lips spreading into a grin, and smile lines creasing her cheeks.

Merlin jerked back and burrowed himself further into his hiding place, but it was too late, and he cursed himself internally for letting his curiosity trump his sense of self-preservation. 

He bit his lip and willed himself to quiet his breathing, but after what seemed an eternity, he realised that the alcove was silent once more, the footfalls having long receded into the distance. He leant out from behind the container to confirm it, and, to his relief, saw that he was alone.

He retreated back into the shadows, puzzling over the strange almost-encounter. Why had they simply left? The man had obviously been looking for him, from their conversation, and she had seen him — looked straight at him, and smiled. Why hadn’t she said anything? 

It was no longer safe to stay here, obviously. His hiding place had been compromised. But he was so tired, and his magic was still gone.

As he wiggled out from behind the container, his eye caught sight of something resting on the ground in the centre of the alcove — a clear bottle, almost like glass but thinner, and wrapped with a dark blue band of decoration. As he came closer, he saw writing on the bands. _Dasani_ , it read, and in smaller print above, _Purified Water_.

Had the bottle been there the whole time? He couldn’t remember. He turned the bottle over in his hands, thumbing the slick ripples, fingertips catching against the thin material of the blue label.

Could she have left it there for him?

His hands stilled in their exploration of the bottle’s texture, and he swallowed down the lump of gratitude in his throat. Perhaps he wouldn’t change his hiding spot just yet.

Merlin hadn’t realised how truly exhausted he was until he tried to walk. He had inspected the bottle of water that had been left for him, and found nothing obviously wrong with it. After drinking it, he had leant back against the brick wall and let his eyes drift shut, just for a few moments, before he was shocked back into waking by a loud bird call from one of the metal chariots on the street just past the alcove entrance. He managed to struggle to his feet, but as soon as he attempted a few stumbling steps, his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground.

The lack of food and sleep had left him unacceptably weak. He crawled back to his hiding place behind the yellow container and tried to find a position that wouldn’t cause him crippling back pain on waking. He dozed fitfully through the day, waking to the occasional shouts of passersby and a tingling sensation in his limbs. He did nothing more than drift in and out until day had passed to night and then to dawn again, and found the chill that had seeped into his bones was no longer present.

He shifted onto his back, and saw that his arms and chest were covered with a faded red duvet, somewhat scratchy, but still warm. Scrambling out of his hiding place, he scanned the alley quickly for an intruder.

“Hey there,” an old, scratchy voice called. Merlin forced himself to relax. He straightened and, looking to his left, noticed someone just past the container that had been his hiding place.

An old man was standing in the alcove, arm resting on the brick wall next to him for support, and he smiled at Merlin. “Finally awake! It’s about time.”

The voice was achingly familiar, though Merlin was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life. Merlin drew in a shaky breath and felt some of the tension he’d been carrying dissolve. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Kay,” the man said, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand in front of Merlin. He peered at him intently, a faint frown pulling at his lips and creasing his brow. “God, your ears are big.”

“Excuse me?”

Ignoring him, the man simply waved a hand towards the duvet looped over Merlin’s lower arm. “Sleep better with that, yeah? You looked cold.”

Merlin folded his arms across his chest, drawing back a bit and curling into himself protectively, as he looked the stranger up and down. The man grinned up at him, blackened teeth grinning out of a weathered face. He was clad in what appeared to be little better than rags, with a large pack strapped to his back, and a puffy dark green overcoat. His hair was long and white and his beard reached halfway down his chest.

“You hungry?”

Merlin’s voice caught in his throat when he tried to utter a confirmation, so he closed his eyes before clearing his throat and nodding. 

“Follow me, then.”

Merlin blinked. “Thank you.” If nothing else, this would give him a chance to observe. Besides, Merlin could use a friend in this strange place.

Kay broke into a wide grin, the dimples in his cheeks creasing his wrinkled visage. “I have hot dogs. Fantastic things, hot dogs. Even better when cooked over a fire. Granted, ‘round here, the only fires are ones in rubbish bins, which isn’t nearly as scenic as a bonfire, but it’ll do. _You_ will like hot dogs, I guarantee it.”

Kay was right, as it turned out; Merlin did like hot dogs. What he liked even more, though, was a full night’s rest after days of sleeping fitfully or not at all.

He returned to consciousness slowly, registering the ache of his muscles, the chill in his skin, the soft texture of the duvet underneath him, and the early morning light creeping under his eyelids. It was not until he felt a familiar tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers that he startled to full consciousness, opening his eyes wide and jerking upright. The sky above was still grey, but the sun was peeking over the horizon, a bright brand against the skyline.

Merlin focused on the red and gold leaves scattered over the ground of the alleyway. He stretched out one hand and whispered “ _forþ fleoge_ ” under his breath.

Nothing.

“ _Windræs ge hiere_.” He stared at the unmoving leaves, his magic swirling underneath his skin. “ _Cume þoden_!”

He tried again and again, snapping his wrist and staring at the leaves, but although he could feel his magic, knew that he was no longer hollow from the lack of it, he could not command it.

“You all right?”

The gruff voice startled Merlin, and he quickly dropped his hands onto the folds of the duvet. Kay was leaning back against the brick wall of the alley way, his expression impassive, but his eyes full of pity.

“Fine,” Merlin said, at last, slumping into his bedding. 

Kay reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a red and white box, which he smacked against his hand a few times, before pulling out a long white cylinder, about the length of his index finger and half as thick, and placing it between his lips. Stuffing the box back in his pocket, he retrieved a flat rectangle with a dark strip on the bottom, and unfolded it to reveal a row of tiny wooden sticks with black knobs on the end. Merlin watched in awe as Kay dragged the stick against the black strip and the end burst into a tiny flame.

Kay glanced at Merlin with a small smile, before proceeding to light the white cylinder, cupping his hands around the end so as not to extinguish the flame. Merlin watched with fascination as Kay sucked in a lungful of air through the cylinder, smoke streaming from his nostrils on the next exhale of breath. The sight reminded him, oddly enough, of the Great Dragon, smoke drifting out of his nostrils as he glowered down at him.

Merlin sat watching Kay breathe smoke for the next few minutes and he felt a smile curving across his face as the two men shared a companionable silence. Eventually, Kay stubbed his cylinder against the stone ground, grinding it under his heel and rising to his feet.

“You coming?”

Merlin blinked. “Coming where?”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Kay glanced up and met Merlin’s gaze. “I know a place near here.” Without waiting for a response, Kay sauntered out of the alley, not bothering to look behind him to see if Merlin was following.

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin jogged to catch up with the old man. He trailed along after Kay, darting startled glances at his surroundings.

Townsfolk in more conservative garb than those he’d seen previously crowded the walkways, and more travelling boxes whooshed past on the paved paths in between buildings. A large, square building with hundreds of glass windows towered to Merlin’s left; to his right, couples sat in a courtyard eating lunch at small round tables. A black and white striped awning provided shade, and cheerful lettering floating above proclaimed the name of the establishment to be “Café Avalon.” 

Kay lingered outside the door. “I know the owner; he’s a good man.” Merlin hesitated, and Kay rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”

He tentatively pulled open the glass door — an entire door, made of clear glass! — marking the shop’s entrance. A small bell from overhead tinkled as he stepped inside.

The inside was just as cheerful as the outside. Shiny red and blue egg-shapes, almost as tall as Merlin, were clustered around black circular tables. On second glance, the eggs had oval openings and looked to be partially hollowed out to form a space to sit. A glass case proudly displayed an array of pastries, and large windows, so thin and clear as to look almost invisible, let the morning sun spill through the shop, bathing it in warm gold. A man stood with his back to Merlin, behind the display of pastry, wiping down the counters with a soft cloth.

Everything looked so shiny. It almost hurt Merlin’s eyes to look at the bright reflections in the tables and chairs.

“Good morning,” said a cheerful voice. “What can I get for you today?”

Merlin’s head snapped up as he turned to face the source of the voice. 

The man who had been cleaning behind the counter had turned to face Merlin. Leaning against the counter casually, his head cocked to the side, stood a tall man with dark brown hair falling to his shoulders, a scruffy looking moustache and beard, thin mouth and long, sharp nose. His eyebrows were raised in a mixture of amusement and wary regard.

“Gwaine!” Merlin cried, reaching out with one arm to clutch at Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine blinked in surprise before Merlin remembered himself and withdrew his hand hastily.

Gwaine grinned, a familiar, roguish smile that caused Merlin’s stomach to flip. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” 

Merlin simply beamed back at him, too exhausted to speak. 

Gwaine cleared his throat as he pulled back, setting aside his cleaning cloth and wiping his hands on his trousers. His grin turned faintly puzzled as he looked Merlin up and down. “What’s up with the costume, anyway?”

Merlin looked down at his familiar red scarf and blue tunic, tan jacket and brown trousers, the comfortable leather boots. His tunic was too long and loose compared to Gwaine’s, his clothing rougher and the colours brighter.

Before he had a chance to answer, Gwaine interrupted Merlin’s train of thought. “I admit you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He looked Merlin up and down, his lips twisting into a smirk. “And I can’t believe I would have forgotten it if you’d told me.”

Merlin’s stomach bottomed out. “You don’t know my name?” Of course. How could he have been so stupid? His magic had taken him to such a strange and fantastic place that the idea of encountering something — or, in this case, someone — he knew was preposterous. This man may have looked and spoken like his Gwaine, but he was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. “Erm, sorry, of course not. I’m Merlin.”

Gwaine, once again, blinked, taken aback. “Merlin? Now I really don’t know how I would have forgotten your name. Did my roguish charm not work last time you were in?”

“No, actually. We haven’t met. I haven’t been here before, I just... ah.” Merlin bit his lip. “Recognise you?” He really needed to get a better cover story. Or to stop spontaneously blurting out people’s names on first encounter.

Gwaine actually looked pleased at that, his brow smoothing, easing into that achingly familiar smile, the relaxed curl of lips that he displayed whenever Merlin shot down Arthur with a particularly biting comeback. 

“My reputation precedes me, then!” Gwaine said, beaming. He raised an eyebrow at Merlin, smile still firmly in place. “How’d you hear about us?”

“Uh. You know.” Merlin waved his hand about as Gwaine’s expression softened into bemusement. His thoughts flitted to Kay, still waiting outside. “A friend.”

“Word of mouth is the best form of advertising, or so they say,” Gwaine said, winking. “So did you come in here for coffee, or to ogle the staff?”

Merlin blinked, caught off-guard by Gwaine’s foreign vocabulary. “You have food, right?”

Gwaine’s smile turned wry. “We do. So you didn’t come in just to flirt, then?”

Although Merlin still didn’t understand his speech, it was Gwaine’s expression, and the way his eyes dipped down to Merlin’s mouth, that told him what the strange words meant. Merlin shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but he could feel the flush of embarrassment working its way up his neck. “Sorry.”

Gwaine lowered his head, looking up at Merlin through his eyelashes. “A pity, that.”

Merlin blinked. As much as he wanted to trust Gwaine, instinctively did, it was odd of him to act so openly with a stranger. Gwaine’s body language was bordering on lewd. His long hair fell across one cheek, just brushing against his exposed collarbone, his shoulders just slightly askew, chest thrown outward. His tunic ended before his trousers began, revealing a slim line of pale skin. His fingers rested lightly on his hips, thumbs tucked inside his trousers, one hip slightly higher than the other. 

And why was Merlin staring at Gwaine’s hips in the first place? He forced his gaze back upward, to meet Gwaine’s eyes. His smile looked very smug, indeed.

“We have a menu,” Gwaine said, tapping at a parchment covered in a strange glossy transparent material; it had a list of foods with odd names and numbers. Merlin felt his stomach drop as he realised that he had no gold with which to pay for his food.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, stumbling backwards.

“Wait!” Gwaine called, running back behind the counter and around to meet Merlin at the front of the store, next to a black table with two egg-chairs surrounding it and decorated with a bright yellow pot of daisies. “Don’t leave.”

Merlin looked up at Gwaine, who was looking strangely desperate, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth curled down at the corners. “I’m sorry. Look, coming here was a mistake. I can’t— I can’t pay.”

Gwaine frowned. “You… forgot your wallet, am I right? Look, it’s not a big deal.” He cinched a hand around Merlin’s wrist and tugged him over to the pastry case. “First muffin is on the house.”

Merlin blinked, startled by the unfamiliar words, as he stumbled after Gwaine. “What?”

“And I’m the house, so what I say, goes. Here.” He tapped on the glass. “What flavour do you want?”

Merlin glanced to where Gwaine was gesturing, at the glass case full of pastries. “Flavour?”

“Pumpkin chocolate chip then. That’s my favourite.” Gwaine winked and strolled back behind the counter, where he pulled out an orange coloured pastry with chunks of some brown substance. Its bottom half was covered in a paper wrapping, which Merlin used to hold the food as he pinched a bit of the round top between two fingers and slipped it in his mouth.

It was sweet - like cake, and Merlin’s eyes widened at the strange taste, pungent and exotic. He could identify cinnamon and cloves, oriental spices used in the rich dishes they served at feasts, but then one of the dark brown chunks split under his incisors and the flash of rich flavour, sweet and dark and just a hint bitter, was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. “Oh,” he gasped.

Gwaine laughed, loud and deep, his rough voice filling a hole in Merlin’s chest that he had not realised was there. “Glad you like it. Come back when you find your wallet, yeah?”

Merlin clutched the muffin tightly to his chest. “I… will.” 

As he pushed past the shop door, smiling at the chime of the bell overhead, Kay unfolded from his position propped up against the doorway and cackled loudly. “Oooh, you got pumpkin! Give some here.” He broke off a chunk between his index finger and thumb and popped it into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he chewed.

For looking about seventy, Kay didn’t really act his age. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” said Merlin.

Kay merely smiled.

“I heard Gwaine was looking for new workers,” he said. Before Merlin could reply, he had already shuffled off, back towards their shared alley.

The next day, shortly after waking, Merlin followed the same paths Kay had taken to get to the Avalon. The sign behind the door read “CLOSED,” so Merlin leant forward and peered into the windows. Gwaine was inside, wiping off the counter, and gave him a puzzled glance when he saw Merlin with his nose pressed up against the glass.

Merlin was gratified when, instead of leaving him to squash his nose, Gwaine came and unlocked the front door. “Hello again, handsome stranger.” Gwaine’s smile was just as brilliant - and inappropriately lascivious - as it had been yesterday. “Come on in.”

Merlin followed Gwaine as he wandered back to the cash register. “I was wondering if you were… hiring?”

Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. “You want to work here?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Merlin grinned. “I can clean, obviously. But I can also cook, and I can learn. I want to. Learn, that is.”

Gwaine paused in his movements, setting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin in his hands. “You want to learn? What, exactly?”

“I want to be your apprentice.”

Gwaine snorted.

“No, really,” Merlin said. “I want to learn how you perform your trade. How to… make muffins. And clean things?” He looked around the room, eyes lighting on the colourful flower arrangements on one of the tables. “How to arrange the flowers.” Gwaine snorted, but Merlin kept going. “I’ll do whatever you need. Just let me learn from you.”

Gwaine bit his lip. “You don’t get out much, do you, mate.”

Merlin gripped the counter and leaned forward to meet Gwaine’s stare head-on. “I’m serious. I want to do this. Let me work for you.”

Gwaine straightened up, letting his hands fall onto the counter and tapping restlessly with his fingers on the metal surface. _Click click click click_. Pursing his lips, Gwaine nodded and threw his cleaning rag at Merlin. “You can start by wiping down the counters.”

Merlin’s face broke into a wide grin. “Thanks, Gwaine!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Gwaine said, as he turned to the back to start pulling pastries out of the oven in the back kitchen. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to pay you or not.”


	3. Gwaine

Working in a cafe was more difficult than Merlin had anticipated. On top of cleaning, baking, and attending to customers, there were these odd machines that spat out dark liquid, machines to fluff and heat milk (and wouldn't it be so much easier to simply get it straight from the cow, as opposed to preserving the milk and heating and fluffing it after the fact?), and, worst of all, there was the tablet.

The tablet was what Gwaine used to charge customers for their food. Instead of exchanging physical coin, the customers used tiny stiff rectangles about half the size of Merlin’s palm, which they slid through a white box that attached to said tablet, a rectangular device with a smooth embedded surface about the size of Merlin’s head. Gwaine then used his fingers on the black surface, which lit up with runes and images, asked the customer a few questions, and then handed back their stiff rectangle and the food they’d purchased.

After five or six customers, Gwaine turned to Merlin, handed him the tablet, and said, “Fancy a go?”

Merlin smiled at Gwaine to try to cover up the fact that he had no idea what that meant. Something about travelling in style, perhaps.

When a cheerful girl with shiny pink hair came in the shop, asking for a double shot caramel mack-something, Merlin tried to get the rectangle to slide through the box.

Gwaine glanced over and snorted. He took the rectangle from him, rotated it, and swiped it. “You have to turn it so the magnetic stripe’s facing this way.” Merlin had no idea what a magnetic stripe was, and he felt his face heat up. The pink-haired girl giggled.

Merlin started reading out all the runes on the screen. “First Name. Lauren. Last Name. Michaels. Card number. Five five six three, seven one—“

“Oh my God, Merlin, you don’t just read it all aloud. Go to the next screen.”

Merlin smushed his finger against the screen where there was a rectangle containing the word “NEXT.”

“Um,” said Merlin. “It didn’t do anything.”

“It’s waiting for the payment to go through, Merlin. That’s what the spinny icon means, yeah?”

“Should I press the rectangle again?”

“No!”

Two customers later, Gwaine grabbed the tablet back, shoved Merlin into the kitchen, and slammed the door.

The kitchen was about as mysterious to Merlin as using the tablet was. Unlike all the kitchens he had seen back home, this one was shiny and sterile and metallic. 

The first thing Merlin noticed was a large silver basin mounted near the back of the room. It had a small hole in the bottom, a shiny metal spigot arching over it, and round knobs situated between it and the wall. The spigot, even though it was made of metal and not wood, reminded Merlin of the water pumps in Camelot. He shuffled over to determine its method of operation.

Merlin first attempted to twist the spigot like he would a normal pump, but it was fixed in place. He then tried twisting and tugging the first knob in various directions, to no avail, until he finally rotated it parallel to the floor, and cold water poured out of the spigot. He cautiously twisted the second knob, and the water started pouring out heated. “Fantastic,” Merlin said, and stuck both hands under the stream. It was marvellous. 

Gwaine, of course, was bound to come looking for his erstwhile assistant at some point. When he saw Merlin just holding his hands under the stream of warm water, his mouth twisted down in a frown and his eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement. “Do I need to put up a sign that says, _Employees must wash their hands, not soak them_?”

Merlin could feel his face heating under Gwaine’s scrutiny, but he was reluctant to pull away. “It’s warm.”

Gwaine shot Merlin a Look. “Yes, that’s what the hot knob tends to do. You don’t just pile on the soap like you waste water, do you?”

 _Soap?_ Apparently Merlin’s confusion was showing on his face, because Gwaine stalked over to the basin and jabbed his finger into a white object mounted to the wall above, oval in shape and with a curved lip that Gwaine reached under, pushing with his thumb while his fingers curled upwards, palm up. The lip hinged, and a fluffy cloud of white squirted into Gwaine’s palm. He waved it under Merlin’s nose.

“Here is the soap. I sincerely hope you know how to use it.” He turned his head away before his brow scrunched and he glared at Merlin suspiciously from under his eyebrows. “Don’t use it all in one go. Ta.”

Gwaine waved his palm under the stream of water to rinse off the blob of foam, before turning the knob back so the water stopped flowing. He wiped his dripping hand on his apron and strode out the kitchen door. Merlin looked forlornly at the now silent spigot before following Gwaine back out.

“How do you manage it?” Gwaine asked, rubbing at the counter top with a rag after closing time. It was the end of Merlin’s first day as Gwaine’s assistant, and Merlin wasn’t so sure Gwaine was going to let him come back for a second.

Merlin didn’t look up from the rather stubborn sticky drips under the hazelnut flavouring. “Manage what?”

“You always look confused. You don’t even know the names of anything. Were you born under a rock?” Gwaine shook his head as he tossed his used rag into the bin next to Merlin.

“I told you before, I’ve never worked in a cafe.”

Merlin could practically hear Gwaine rolling his eyes. “There’s a difference between not knowing what the steamer or espresso machines are and asking about the Soya milk, Merlin.”

“Soya milk sounds horrid.”

“That it is, Merlin, but don’t let the customers hear you say so.”

To be honest, Merlin’s first day on the job had been something of a disaster so far, but Gwaine had been remarkably patient. After the soaking hands incident, Merlin had started reading through the espresso machine operator’s manual. Gwaine had suggested it to him, though in retrospect, it seemed more a method of revenge than a genuine suggestion. If Merlin had to read through the whole book, he might go blind. Just as he was daydreaming about creative ways to dispose of the manual (tearing it into bits and using it for coffee filters was his top vote thus far), Gwaine had shoved him in the kitchen with an armful of dirty glassware. When Gwaine had come in to check on him, Merlin had still been searching for towels. When he informed Gwaine of this, he had started guffawing and said, “How desperate were you to start looking in the freezer?”

Now they had finally shooed off the last diner, and were busy wiping down the tables and chairs. Merlin was rubbing at a particularly stubborn brown spot when the door tinkled to signal the arrival of a new customer.

“Evening, Kay,” Merlin heard Gwaine say, and as his head snapped up he observed that it was, indeed, the same Kay he knew, ratty clothing and faint smell of smoke included.

“Evening, Gwaine.” He grinned at Merlin, flashing his crooked yellow teeth. “How are you enjoying yourself so far, Merlin?”

Merlin blinked. “I’m… fine?”

Kay turned back to Gwaine. “I figured I’d come check on the two of you, see how things were going.”

Gwaine straightened, setting his rag down gently. “He’s one of yours, then?”

“Aye. Apologies for inflicting him on you — he’s not too familiar with city life.” Kay walked over to the counter, tugging on the sleeve of his overcoat. “Speaking of which…” He tilted his head to the side, and Gwaine let out a groan.

“Oh, no.” Gwaine shook his head. “I’m not taking him.”

Merlin abandoned all pretence of wiping down the table and leaned forward to catch the conversation. Apparently Kay gestured silently at Gwaine, because the man’s expression switched from grumpily indignant to resigned in an instant. “Really?” Gwaine said.

Kay leaned forward, closer to Gwaine, and Merlin contemplated sneaking over to the counter so he could see the old man’s expressions. He thought better of it when Gwaine caught his eye and frowned.

When Kay whirled around, he was grinning. “We’ve picked up another runaway, and I’ll be needing your blankets. Gwaine has kindly offered to let you stay with him for the time being.”

“What?” Gwaine sputtered. “I said no such thing!” His protests were cut off by an elbow to the ribs. He turned to glare at the perpetrator. “You absolute arse. If you weren’t seventy I swear I’d—“

Kay ignored him. “I’m sure you’ll get along like two peas in a pod,” he said, half to Gwaine and half to Merlin. “Ta!” He started whistling as he skipped his way to the exit.

Gwaine just laughed as the door shut behind Kay. “Old fart. Don’t know why I put up with him.” He turned to Merlin, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “It’s just as well you’re coming with me. I have a few questions need answered.”

Merlin groaned internally as he followed Gwaine out of the shop. Gwaine rummaged in the front pocket of his too-tight trousers for a black rectangle. He tapped on it with his fingers and Merlin heard the sound of the deadbolt lock sliding into place.

“You know,” said Gwaine, after he’d stuffed the strange rectangular key back in his pocket and turned to face Merlin, “I wasn’t actually planning on going home just yet.”

Merlin lifted an eyebrow. “Where were you going, then?”

“There’s a pub just down the road from here,” Gwaine said. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?”

Merlin shrugged. If he slept with Kay’s group, he wouldn’t be getting any blankets, so his choices were rather limited at the moment. Besides, whatever a pub was, spending more time with Gwaine would at least be entertaining. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Gwaine said, throwing Merlin the third wink of the day. Not that he was counting. “It’s just over here. They have beer that’ll make you cry. Tears of joy, I’m telling you.”

The pub Gwaine had mentioned turned out to be a tavern, to Merlin’s amusement. They sat at a table tucked into a corner of the large room. Merlin settled into his chair, looking around. The inside of the establishment was rather noisy, with a cacophony of voices and instrumentation and an unpleasant thumping noise that varied in tempo every few minutes. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin as they entered, the door scissoring open as Gwaine approached without even touching it, then sealing back up into an apparently solid pane of glass.

Inside, everything was smooth and glossy and much brighter than the taverns Merlin was used to, and there were women here as well, sitting and drinking and talking in twos and threes. A few people sat on stools in front of the bar, hunched over clear glasses.

A young woman with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail stepped up to their table. “Hello, loves. Can I bring you anything?”

“Evening, Allie,” Gwaine said, with a customary wink and cheerful grin, “I’ll have the chocolate stout, and my friend here will have the house blonde.”

Merlin blinked at Gwaine once the tavern-worker had left their table. “What did you just order for me?”

Gwaine grinned, hair flopping into one eye, and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. “Excalibur Blonde Ale. It’s one of the standards here.” He tapped the inside of his wrist and overlapping pink and blue triangles bloomed to life under his fingertips.

“What is that?” Merlin asked, gaping.

“I don’t like to advertise my sexuality when I’m at work,” Gwaine said, grinning at Merlin’s bewildered expression.

“Your sexuality?”

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, how do you not know these things?” He pointed towards the triangles. “This is the symbol for bisexuality. Did you grow up in some crazy cult that never let you go outside? Raised by wolves? It would explain a few things.”

“What?” Merlin forced his gaze away from the triangles on Gwaine’s arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gwaine leaned forward in his chair, eyes locked with Merlin’s. “Tell me you’ve drunk alcohol before.”

Merlin snorted. “I’ve drunk ale and mead plenty of times, yes.”

“Thank God for that,” Gwaine said, relaxing back into his seat.

When the woman returned, with a deep brown ale for Gwaine and a light golden ale for Merlin, he took it hesitantly and tried a sip. He stuck his tongue out. “What is this, water? I can hardly taste it.”

Gwaine’s head jerked back and his eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he burst out laughing. “Mate, if I’d known you liked your beer hoppy, I’d’ve ordered differently.” He grinned and pushed his glass towards Merlin. 

Merlin sniffed at the offering before taking a cautious sip. This drink had a rich, bitter tang, almost burnt-tasting, with a strong aftertaste reminiscent of the ale he normally drank back home. He smiled and nodded his approval and Gwaine ruefully snagged Merlin’s glass of watered-down ale and started in on that.

“So,” Gwaine asked, after sipping at Merlin’s ale and wincing, “you’re Kay’s nephew, I take it?”

“What?” Merlin babbled, nearly snorting a mouthful of ale.

Gwaine’s eyes darted to meet Merlin’s gaze, a single eyebrow raised. “He told me his nephew would be — are you not him?”

Merlin blinked. What had Kay told him? “What did he say?”

Gwaine smirked. “Afraid he’s told me embarrassing stories of you in your nappies?”

“No?” Merlin fought the blush he could feel rising to his cheeks. “Um, I don’t really know him.”

“He just said that you were new in town and needed a place to stay.”

Merlin shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“You weren’t close, then? Growing up?”

“No.” Merlin took another swig of ale.

“Fair enough,” Gwaine said. He frowned into his glass. “I was hoping you had some horror stories. For blackmail purposes, obviously.” Gwaine wasn’t looking at him any longer, simply smoothing a finger over the whorls of wood grain in the table top. 

“He has an obsession with hot dogs,” Merlin blurted out.

Gwaine snorted, his eyes crinkling up in mirth. “What man doesn’t?” Taking another swig of ale, he gritted his teeth in a grimace as he swallowed. “So where are you from, Merlin?” 

Merlin blinked. “Ealdor?”

Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. “Ealdor? Haven’t heard of that. Is it a small town, then?”

“Erm, yes. Very small.”

“How close to London?”

“It’s. You know. Far.”

“Far.” Gwaine smirked at Merlin. “Your way with words is astounding.”

Merlin swallowed. He was unfortunately familiar with that expression. The smirk and the waggling of eyebrows on the old Gwaine — his Gwaine — meant that Merlin had been caught out doing something stupid. 

“So what brings you here from such a faraway land?”

Merlin bit his lip. How much could he tell Gwaine? How much could he say without sounding mad?

“Oh, come on,” Gwaine said, smacking Merlin’s upper arm gently with the back of his hand. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“I’m looking for someone, actually.”

“Yeah?” Gwaine’s smile grew wider, if that was even possible. “And who would that be?”

“A friend.”

“Just a friend?” Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what your wolf mother taught you, but did you really come all the way from distant Ealdor for a _friend_?”

“Yes, as it so happens,” Merlin replied, a bit testy.

Gwaine leered. “Is she pretty?”

“ _He’s_ not… He’s fine looking! Not that it matters.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair, trying to bite back his frustration. “His name is Arthur.”

Gwaine grinned. “I know an Arthur. Bad news, Arthurs are. You should stay away from them.”

“Right, because Gwaines are much more trustworthy?”

“Smart lad.” Gwaine tilted his head back to drain the last drops of his glass of ale. 

Merlin looked down at the pint in his hands to find it was almost gone as well. No wonder he was feeling a tad light-headed.

“Well, wolf boy,” Gwaine said, waggling his eyebrows, “shall we order you another? Or is one drink too much for your delicate constitution?”

Merlin glared. “I’m not _delicate_.”

“Of course not,” Gwaine said, smirk firmly back in place. He lifted a hand in the air, his fingers wiggling. “Fair bar maiden! A second round!”

The woman who had brought their ales earlier smacked him upside the head as she passed by the table. “Shut it, Gwaine!”

“I can see you smiling, Allie,” Gwaine called as she walked away. “Don’t lie.”

Merlin slouched lower in his seat.

Gwaine giggled as Merlin sipped at his fourth pint of ale. The room was pleasantly weaving in and out. Merlin was almost able to ignore the fact that everything felt wrong. Gwaine had gotten progressively more handsy as the night went on. Right now, he was pressed up next to Merlin, his arm thrown over Merlin’s shoulder, his thigh bleeding warmth through Merlin’s breeches. Merlin thought it was all rather comfortable, if a bit sweaty.

“You’re too warm,” he said.

“I’m _hot_ ,” Gwaine corrected.

“Yes. That.”

Gwaine giggled again. Merlin turned back to his drink, but apparently Gwaine was saying something, because he nudged Merlin with his elbow, causing a bit of his drink to slosh out of the side of his glass. 

“Hmmm?” Merlin asked, smiling blearily at Gwaine. This was terribly good ale.

“I said, do you want to come back to mine?” Gwaine was staring at Merlin’s lips, for some reason. Perhaps he had ale on his mouth. Merlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and Gwaine’s gaze shifted back up to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“Come back to yours? Your what?”

Gwaine looked amused at this. “My flat.”

Merlin bit his lip. He wished he knew what a flat was. Some sort of pallet? Perhaps his bed? “Where is it?”

“It’s a ten minute ride by taxi.” 

Merlin frowned. That was terribly unspecific. What was a tacksee? Some sort of horse? More likely, it was one of those awful travelling boxes. Merlin shuddered at the thought of actually getting inside one.

Gwaine, seeing Merlin’s disgruntled expression, waved his hand about. “I’ll pay, if that’s what you’re worried about. Unless, of course, you don’t want to wait that long.” He glanced over at Merlin, who was now tapping his foot against the ground. “Nervous?”

“What? No!” Merlin stilled his foot and glared at Gwaine.

“Great,” Gwaine said, grinning. “I’ll just hail a cab, then.”

“Ackab?” Merlin asked, brow furrowing. This was the first he’d heard of Ackab. Perhaps it was the name of Gwaine’s tacksee.

Gwaine glanced over at Merlin, sidelong. “You don’t know what a taxi is, do you?”

Merlin gaped. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“You might want to be careful what you say, wolf boy,” Gwaine said, struggling to his feet and digging into his pocket for the black box he’d used to lock up the cafe. “Someone might take advantage of your weakened state.”

Merlin’s blush, which had been creeping up and down his neck all day, rose all the way to his ears now. “I’m not in a weakened state, you ass.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Gwaine said, his smile softer now. He tapped at the surface of the black rectangle, waving once at the man behind the bar before tucking it back in his pocket and turning to the exit. “Come on, this way.”

Merlin was silent as he followed Gwaine to the tacksee. He was not sure what he had been expecting — back home, he might have expected stables — but they paused at the side of a broad thoroughfare and Gwaine simply stuck out his hand in a salute. A black metal box on leather wheels, like those that Merlin had seen earlier, stopped in front of them.

Gwaine ushered Merlin into the interior of the tacksee and assisted him with securing some sort of cloth restraint that stretched across his chest before shutting the door and fastening his own. He mumbled at the man seated in front, “21 Marylebone, please,” before turning back to Merlin and grinning.

Merlin just sighed and purposefully turned his head away from Gwaine, to look out of the window.

Gwaine was mercifully silent for the duration of their time spent strapped into the strange bench inside of the tacksee. Merlin spent the time watching the buildings and people whoosh past, colours blending together and making him a bit dizzy.

When the box came to a stop, Gwaine unharnessed Merlin, shooed him out of the side exit, and handed the man in the front of the box a thin blue rectangle.

Merlin shivered as he stood on the pathway next to Gwaine. The black box sped off into the darkness and Gwaine made a strange gesture towards the towering building in front of him. 

“My flat’s on the first floor,” Gwaine said, as if that explained everything. Merlin simply followed him mutely. He hoped Kay was right about this, and that Gwaine was not simply going to knock him out and rifle through his clothing for valuables as soon as he got him alone. Or tackle him to the ground and rob him of his virtue. That seemed a much more likely course of action.

The two men strode up a stairway to a large wooden door, with a bright, steady lantern hanging from the ceiling above. Gwaine retrieved another thin rectangle, this one white, and swiped it through a slot next to the door. A green light flashed and the door clicked open. Gwaine pushed through and beckoned for Merlin to follow.

They stepped down a darkened corridor, with dark red matted fur on the floors and a floral pattern on the walls reminiscent of the embroidery on Morgana’s gowns. They stopped in front of a different door, which made a clicking noise as Gwaine approached, and the door retracted into the wall, revealing Gwaine’s private quarters.

As soon as Merlin stepped through the door, Gwaine’s hands were sliding around his shoulders and his face came dangerously close to Merlin’s. Gwaine blew a hot breath over Merlin’s neck and whispered in his ear. “You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?”

Merlin did what he’d been trained to do in his years of experience with Gwaine’s drunken groping attempts, and elbowed him in the solar plexus.

“Sorry!” Merlin squawked, as Gwaine doubled over, gasping for breath. “You caught me off guard!”

Gwaine was now wheezing, tears streaming from his eyes.

Merlin hurried to grab Gwaine and herded him over to the middle of the room, where a plush stuffed brown chair and a light blue, equally fluffy bench sat in front of a low table. Once Gwaine was sat in the chair, Merlin wrung his hands in front of him as he caught his breath. “Do you need water? Or something?”

Gwaine choked out a laugh. “That was… not… exactly… what I… was expecting,” he managed between wheezes. “Bloody hell, you pack a punch.”

“That wasn’t a punch, exactly…”

“Elbow, then!”

Merlin’s eyes darted around the room. The walls were white and smooth on first look, but with a slight raised texture on closer inspection. There were pictures on the walls, not paintings — too smooth — but containing odd art subjects. Some actually looked like windows to the outside world, except the images they captured couldn’t possibly be from a window. In one, a woman was frozen mid-jump, hair streaming through the air and limbs outspread. Merlin had to tear his gaze from the image and look back at Gwaine, who was now breathing normally but inspecting Merlin closely, apprehension furrowing his brow. Merlin retreated back to the doorway, Gwaine’s eyes tracking him as he walked.

“Look,” Merlin said after a tense silence, “I’m sorry I elbowed you. Really. But I was not actually looking for… ah…”

“A good time?”

Merlin smiled down at Gwaine fondly. “Bloody hell, Gwaine. You’re just as bad as I remember.”

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “What’s that supposed to mean, mister we-haven’t-actually-met?”

Merlin felt a flush working its way up his neck, and he grimaced. “It’s complicated.”

Gwaine huffed. “Okay, okay. So. No funny business. You don’t put out on the first date, I get it. But you’ve been driving me mad _all day_. You’ve been staring at me just as much as I’ve been looking at you! And what was all that, at the bar?”

Merlin bit his lip. “It’s not for the reason you’re thinking.”

Gwaine stared for a moment before sighing. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but there’s something seriously wrong with you, mate.”

Merlin hesitated, still hovering awkwardly in the doorway. As much as he should be terrified right now, he somehow felt safe. Besides, this was Gwaine. It could not be mere coincidence that his magic had brought him here, where everything was strange except this man.

“Sit,” Gwaine said, gesturing at the blue cloth-covered bench.

Merlin eyed the bench warily. How much should he tell Gwaine? How much _could_ he?

Gwaine sighed, interrupting Merlin’s train of thought. “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“What’s the deal?”

Merlin let out a huff of air, ruffling his bangs, before running his tongue nervously over his front teeth. “I’m not… from here. I don’t know this place.”

Gwaine snorted. “I could tell that much.”

“Oi!” Merlin said, frowning. “I’m trying to say something here.”

Gwaine raised an eyebrow as Merlin simply grimaced in response, running his hands through his hair.

“So,” Merlin said, “the important thing, I suppose, is that I have magic.”

“Magic.” Gwaine said it flatly, disbelieving. “You pull rabbits out of hats?”

“Rabbits? What? No,” Merlin said. He ran one hand through his hair. “I brought myself here, somehow, to this place. Using magic. It’s— I don’t belong here. I’m from Camelot.”

Gwaine snorted. “Let me guess, you’re here to save King Arthur from some dastardly fate.”

“What?” Merlin could feel his jaw drop. “How did you know that?”

“You should get some sleep,” Gwaine said, dodging Merlin’s question. “I think we’re both a bit pissed, yeah?”

“You don’t believe me.” 

Merlin watched as Gwaine rose from the chair and disappeared down a hallway. He came back a few moments later with an armful of bedding, which he flung at Merlin’s head.

“Here,” Gwaine said, as Merlin attempted to disentangle himself from the blankets, “you can sleep on the sofa tonight, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow morning.”

Merlin blinked, surprised. “You’re going to let me stay here?”

Gwaine shrugged, his cheeks turning a faint pink. “Sure. As long as you promise not to kill me in my sleep.” He grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head at Merlin. “In all seriousness — Kay’s a friend of mine, so if he trusts you, then I trust you.” And with that he stomped back to the hallway and disappeared.

Merlin clutched the bedding to his chest. Tomorrow he would explain, make Gwaine believe him. He’d find a way to make it sound… if not reasonable, exactly, then at least less mad.

Maybe this was why his magic had put him here. If he’d found Gwaine, then maybe he could find Arthur. And if he could find Arthur, maybe he could save him.

For the first time since Arthur’s death, he let himself feel hope. He curled deeper into the bench, a smile on his face, and drifted towards sleep.

Merlin woke to darkness, panting, limbs tangled in his blankets, as the last vestiges of his nightmare slipped out of his reach. He lay in the darkness for a few moments, staring up at the plain white ceiling, before pushing off the blankets, sliding off of the sofa, and stretching.

Merlin needed to find Arthur. He needed... clean clothes. He bent his head down to sniff at the rank fabric next to his collarbone, still damp with sweat from his dreams. Disgusting. At this rate, even a thorough washing wouldn’t get the smell out. Perhaps it would be better to get different clothes entirely.

He also needed to find out how money worked here. Gwaine had mentioned the words “credit card,” but Merlin had no idea what that was. While he had been in the cafe, he had never seen the customers deal with physical coins. Most of them had used the rectangular card in the tablet. Others had handed Gwaine strips of parchment, which he’d stuffed into a drawer. A few of them hadn’t seemed to pay at all; merely given their order and walked away, and Gwaine had done something to the tablet when they left. 

Then there was the matter of the black square that Gwaine kept pulling out of his pocket. What was its purpose? He’d apparently used it to lock the cafe, but he’d also pulled it out at the bar simply to gaze at it. But there had been a different object to enter the building where he lived, and the door to his home had disappeared into the wall merely by Gwaine’s presence — if that was not magic, then how was he opening the doors? Were there no physical keys in this place? Would Merlin be trapped if he tried to venture outside without a black box of his own?

Merlin went back to the sofa, tossing and turning restlessly, but after what seemed like an eternity, he gave up, and checked the window by the entryway. It was early, yes, but not that early, if the position of the nearly-full moon just above the horizon was any indication. He took a deep breath, walked over to Gwaine’s bedroom door, and knocked.


	4. Getting to Know You

Gwaine had been a right git when Merlin had woken up in the middle of the night, knocked on the door to his room, and asked if perhaps he had a change of clothes since Merlin’s were starting to smell, and mentioned that, by the way, he really wasn’t kidding about the whole wizard-from-Camelot thing.

“You’re still drunk,” Gwaine said, and slammed the door in his face.

To be fair, it was still before dawn, and Gwaine had never been known to be a morning person.

“So,” Gwaine said, chewing thoughtfully on a flat, square-shaped pastry covered with peculiarly flavoured honey of a thin consistency, “I have a confession to make.”

Merlin hummed around his own “waffle with golden syrup.”

“I know you. Knew you. Before you came into the cafe, I mean.”

Merlin looked up from his waffle. “What?” he said. Or at least, he would have said, if his mouth hadn’t been full. Instead, it came out more like _Wuff_?

“I knew you before we met.”

This time, Merlin swallowed before he spoke. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t sure at first. I mean. You looked familiar, of course, but so do a lot of people.” Gwaine took another bite. “But I’ve dreamt about you.”

“You… dreamt?” Merlin glanced suspiciously at his waffle, wondering if Gwaine had dosed it with something. “Sorry, what?”

Gwaine’s face split into a grin. “You’re the man of my dreams, Merlin.”

Merlin just blinked in response.

“Okay, I admit, that was terrible.” Gwaine cleared his throat. “But that’s besides the point. Look, I’ve been having these bizarre dreams for the past few months. My mate Percy’s there too, and he’s all medieval looking, we’re both all dressed up in armour, and we’re tromping about in some fields. And you’re with us, cracking jokes and generally spewing nonsense.”

Gwaine shook his head, setting down his fork. “In the dreams, I know you, we’re… friends. Good friends. Proper mates. Then I wake up and I realise I’ve never met you before.” He waved a hand in the air towards Merlin. “But here you are.”

Merlin chewed on his lip for a moment, before swallowing and pushing his plate away. “So, what you’re saying, is… you’ve been dreaming about me. And that’s supposed to mean, what exactly?”

“Look. Merlin. You don’t know what a waffle is. I mean, some things you can excuse, but waffles?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”

Gwaine shifted in his chair. “I’m just saying, maybe…”

“Maybe it’s not so inconceivable that I’m a wizard?” Merlin asked, lifting his eyebrows reproachfully.

Instead of having the desired effect of chastising Gwaine, he giggled. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” he said, in an odd accent.

“What?” Merlin asked, scrunching his eyebrows.

“Oh my God,” Gwaine said, adopting a look of horror, “you’ve never seen The Princess Bride. You must be a time traveller; there’s no other explanation.”

Merlin threw his waffle at him.

Merlin was starting to regret the loss of his waffle.

Gwaine was lying on the floor, laughing his arse off, having narrowly dodged the syrupy confection, and in so doing, tipped his chair over and lost his balance.

And to make matters worse, Merlin _still_ hadn’t gotten the use of his magic back. At least, he assumed he would have saved Gwaine from collapsing onto the floor if he’d had his magic. 

Maybe not. He _was_ being a git.

“Fine!” Gwaine managed between guffaws. “I believe you! Only the great wizard Merlin would have such uncanny waffle-flinging skills!”

“Oh shut up,” Merlin said irritably, and stole the rest of Gwaine’s waffle.

“You teleported yourself into an alleyway in West End?”

After breakfast, Gwaine had shoved Merlin into one end of the sofa and collapsed on the other side, nursing a small tankard of something called tea, and started his interrogation. 

_What is Camelot like? Have you slept with the Gwaine in Camelot? Why not? Is that why you won’t sleep with me? Have you slept with Arthur, then? Is Arthur king yet? Who is king? Why can’t you just off this Uther fellow if he’s so bloody obnoxious?_

Merlin had rolled his eyes at Gwaine’s less than subtle attempts to tumble him, and awkwardly stuttered through the leering interrogation about Arthur. He had explained the ban on magic. He had mentioned Gwen, and how Arthur was in love with her. He had talked about his own magic, and how he couldn’t seem to control it anymore (at which point Gwaine rolled his eyes and muttered “how convenient”). He told of how Arthur had died, and how Merlin had cast a spell to transport himself and find a way to save him.

Merlin sighed. “I don’t think it’s supposed to work like that, you know. I ended up in Arthur’s chambers, the first time I tried.” 

Gwaine took a sip of his long-cold tea, and made a face. “Whatever. The point is, you’re here now, and you think there’s something here that will help you prevent his death.”

“I hope so.” Merlin ran his thumb across the seam of the sofa cushion underneath him.

Gwaine made a humming noise in the back of his throat, setting his tea down on the floor. “So what does your Arthur look like, anyway?”

“About my height, with blond hair that falls to the middle of his forehead, and blue eyes. His teeth are… well, they’re a bit wonky, but when he laughs his whole face lights up. He doesn’t laugh nearly often enough, though. Normally he’s all grumpy and stern and a bit of a prat.”

“Right,” Gwaine drawled. “So how long have you been in love with him?”

“How long have you been in love with Percy?” Merlin snapped, automatic, and Gwaine froze.

“What the fuck,” he swore. His entire body was suddenly tense.

“Sorry!” Merlin blurted. “Oh gods, I can’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry, Gwaine.”

Gwaine relaxed fractionally on seeing Merlin’s spooked expression, and drew his legs up to his chest, his bare toes digging into the blue fabric underneath him. “How did you know? Did Kay tell you? I will _murder_ him, I swear to God.” 

“No, no,” Merlin said, waving his hand about, “Kay didn’t say anything. It’s just that my Gwaine is in love with Percy. It was more of an automatic reaction than anything. Like elbowing you when you tried to kiss me.”

Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. “You and your Gwaine have an… interesting relationship, sounds like.”

Merlin grinned back, stretching his leg out to nudge Gwaine’s ankle with his toe. “That we do.”

Gwaine smiled for a moment before twitching and pulling his black rectangle out of his pocket. He tapped at it, frowned, and started swiping his finger in loops and swirls. “It’s Percy,” he mumbled, apparently in explanation. “He just opened the cafe; he works Tuesdays.”

Merlin cocked his head, peering at the rectangle in Gwaine’s hands. “I thought that was a key.”

Gwaine stopped touching the rectangle for a moment before his face broke into a grin. “This, my friend, is the future’s version of magic.” He tossed it towards Merlin. 

On closer inspection, the rectangle had a translucent black cover moulded to the back, raised bumps and various oddly shaped holes along the sides, and the word “Virgin” printed in shiny silver lettering on a red background. There was the faint outline of a transparent screen, covered with smudges left behind from Gwaine’s fingerprints. “What is it?”

“That is a mobile phone.” Gwaine leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his head and letting his legs fall open. He leaned over and pressed a button on the short side, and an image flickered to life. A drawing of a tree swayed gently in the background, little drops of rain falling, and overlaid on top were neat rows of colourful images with single-word captions beneath, like “Email” and “Maps” and “Angry Bird.” In the top right corner, the date was displayed as August 12, 2137. Merlin dropped the thing in his lap, jerking back his hands, even though there had been no physical pain. 

Gwaine laughed, a short sharp burst, his head thrown back against the sofa cushions. “It doesn’t bite.”

Merlin blinked, gingerly picking the thing back up, pinched between forefinger and thumb. “Can it lift objects?”

“What?”

“You said it was magic,” Merlin said. “Magic can lift things. So can this lift things?”

Gwaine’s eyebrows scrunched together. “No.”

“Can it light fires?”

“No.”

“Can it stop time?”

“What? No.”

“Can it heal wounds?”

“No! It’s… not that sort of magic!”

“Well, what use is it, then!”

Gwaine scowled, snatching the _mobile phone_ away from Merlin’s grasp.

“It lets you talk to people, no matter how far away they are. Um. You can take photos. Bollocks, you don’t know what those are. Right, what else. It lets you look up random shite… that is, it’s like having a library in your pocket. It has maps so you never get lost. I have a key app so I can use it to open the flat and the cafe. And, uh… it has Angry Birds. That’s pretty fun.” 

Gwaine tilted the phone to show Merlin. The Angry Bird image was a drawing of a fat, red bird with expressive eyebrows.

“Um.”

Gwaine sighed noisily. “No fair. You time travelling lot are supposed to be impressed by the wonders of modern day technology. I feel cheated.”

“Whatever,” Merlin said, flopping closer to Gwaine on the sofa and kicking at his shin. “I’m sure your tiny box is… impressive.”

“It is!” Gwaine said, scowling. He leant over the device, hair swinging to cover his eyes, and he brushed it away absently with one hand, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. His other hand tapped out commands on the mobile phone’s surface. “Besides, I haven’t seen _you_ do any magic.”

Merlin scowled. The truth was, since coming to this place, he still hadn’t managed to successfully harness his power. Since trying to make the leaves fly in the alley two days ago, he’d had little opportunity to practice. He could still feel a tingling in his fingers and an occasional thrumming in his belly that he associated with his magic. 

He eyed Gwaine’s coffee cup. “ _Bune, cume mec._ ”

When the mug immediately flew from the floor into Merlin’s waiting grasp, he wasn’t sure who was more shocked - him or Gwaine.

“Bloody fuck!” Gwaine shouted, leaping up from the sofa.

Merlin would have said something similar, but he was too busy coughing and wiping tea off of his face.

After Gwaine had stopped hyperventilating and Merlin had resumed breathing, it was decided that Merlin needed new clothes and a bath while Gwaine cleaned the sofa and the rug.

The bathtub, like the sink at Gwaine’s cafe, had been superficially strange, but ultimately not terribly different from taking a bath in Camelot. He’d stripped, poured heated water into the tub, noticed that it was all draining through a hole in the bottom of the tub, sealed it up with the attached black stopper on a silver chain, waited until the tub was full of hot water, and slipped in. There was a white circular cake with an astringent scent sitting at the lip of the tub, and when he rubbed it against his wet skin bubbles formed, which was quite lovely. When he brought them up to his mouth, he discovered that they tasted _terrible_.

After a few minutes, he pulled the stopper out to let the water drain, and, dripping on the oddly warm tile floor, grabbed the nearest towel to scrub himself dry.

At least the basics of washing still hadn’t changed.

He towelled himself dry and trudged out to the bedroom. Lying on the bed in a haphazard pile, he found a thin tunic, a pair of stiff blue breeches, and a round piece of cloth, approximately the size of his head, but with two holes in it. After several aborted attempts to pull on the tunic, he gave up and tried the breeches. But there was no visible lacing, and the stupid thing would not slide up his hips.

“Gwaine,” Merlin called. “A little help?” He looked around for something to cover himself, and grabbed a floppy white pillow from the bed. 

“One moment!” A strange set of thuds emanated from outside the door, and then it burst open, Gwaine looking half-crazed. “What did you — wait. What in god’s name are you doing?” He gestured weakly toward Merlin’s knees.

“Trying to put these on?” Merlin hopped up, trying to tug the breeches further up his hips one-handed while still preserving his modesty, and ended up losing his balance and flopping onto the bed. 

“Okay,” Gwaine said, once he had stopped laughing, “first off, you need to unfasten the flies. And secondly, you really need to put the pants on _before_ you do the jeans.”

“Oh,” said Merlin. “Which ones are pants?”

As soon as Merlin had successfully replaced his outfit, Gwaine herded him outside, through the corridor, and down the stairs.

“Your first lesson,” he proclaimed, “will be purchasing the ingredients to cook dinner.”

Merlin looked over at Gwaine, a pained expression on his face. “I’m making dinner?”

“Feeding yourself is an essential skill, Merlin. Plus, I don’t like cooking all the time, and if you’re not paying rent, you’d best work for your room and board. Since, you know, I’m _never_ letting you back in my cafe.”

Merlin grimaced. “So where are we going?”

“The store.” Gwaine sighed. “We’ll have to work on getting you dressed faster in future.”

“Well, now that I know what a zip is-“

“Yes, yes,” Gwaine interrupted, his cheeks flushing a faint pink.

Merlin looked down at his new outfit. Once Gwaine had gotten him into the strange white undergarment termed _pants_ they had wrestled on the wretched jeans. Even after unfastening the button and strange metal teeth called a zip, they’d been difficult to pull on. Merlin had to hop a bit to tug them on, and Gwaine had still frowned and commented that they looked a bit loose. Merlin wasn’t sure how the blasted things could be loose when they squeezed his thighs like… a thing that squeezed thighs.

Gwaine strode ahead of Merlin, pushing impatiently at a button on a long pole that sat at the corner of two large stone-paved pathways.

“Stay on the pavement until you see the little green man appear.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Gwaine.”

“Could have fooled me,” Gwaine muttered, not entirely under his breath.

Merlin resolved to change Gwaine’s entire wardrobe to an unflattering shade of puce when they got home.

The sun was just starting to peek over the roofs of buildings, now. Buildings here were taller by far than any of the ones Merlin had seen in Camelot. The warm light streamed over Gwaine’s shoulders, casting a golden glow to his hair and a soft cast to his face. It would have been terribly flattering if not for the accompanying squint.

“So how do I make this house pie?”

“Cottage pie,” Gwaine absently corrected. “You chop up the ingredients, mix them in a bowl, squash it into a baking dish, and toss it in the oven for an hour. Oh, and don’t forget to cover it with tin foil.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow, though the effect was entirely lost on Gwaine, since Merlin was holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. “Toss?”

“Don’t literally _toss_ it, Merlin. You place it in the oven. Gently. With both hands.” Gwaine grinned over at him. “We’ll need to buy minced beef, instant potatoes, and an onion. I have frozen veg and seasoning back home. Oh, and cheese. For the top.”

Merlin’s lip curled as he contemplated the ingredients list. “This sounds horrid.”

Gwaine shoved him as they walked up to the doors leading into Tesco’s. “You’ll eat it and you’ll like it.” Gwaine blinked. “Bloody hell, I sound like my mum.”

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin when the glass doors parted for them as they approached. Gwaine just laughed.

Inside was a sprawling market with shiny floors and colourful boxes. Merlin stopped in his tracks and Gwaine nearly crashed into him. “Christ, Merlin, stop looking like a deer in the headlights. We’re just here for three things.”

Merlin numbly filtered in the sights and sounds as Gwaine tugged him bodily through the store. They picked up meat first, great slabs of it ground into an unappetising paste, stuck on a flat black plate and wrapped in a shiny transparent screen. Next came the potatoes - not from actual vegetables, apparently, but from a box with a painting of brown tubers on the outside. Finally, they picked up an onion - and that, at least, seemed normal, although it was completely wiped clean of dirt, much larger than he was used to, and Gwaine tossed it into a transparent bag for some inexplicable reason.

They paid for their goods, not by bartering with actual people, but by conversing with a machine. Gwaine showed Merlin a strange device almost as tall as he was, with a glass plate and shelves, next to thin blue and white bags made of the same substance as the transparent sheen entrapping the meat and the onion. Gwaine called it a “chip and pin machine” and waved his three items over the glass plate, dumping them into one of the bags, before shoving a payment rectangle through a slot in the side and pressing at the screen above the glass plate.

Merlin spent the walk back to the flat in silent contemplation of the strange city around him. He occasionally asked Gwaine for names of things ( _That’s the kerb, that’s the pavement, that’s the road, now shut up and look where you’re walking, Merlin_ ) and touched the sides of buildings as he passed. The brick and stone brushing underneath his fingertips were familiar textures, but certain walls were slick where he expected roughness, cool where he expected warmth.

When they reached the flat, Gwaine dumped the bag on the counter next to the white box ( _furge_? He’d have to ask Gwaine again) and pulled out a small glass dish. “I’ll set it up, you go use the chamberpot or something.” 

When Merlin returned, he eyed Gwaine as he puttered about the kitchen. Sitting on the counter were a blue and green bag labeled “Four Cheese Blend” containing orange-coloured shavings; a canister of salt, and two bottle of green flakes labeled oregano and parsley (herbs, apparently dried, and not so different from what Gaius used in his remedies); a translucent jug of milk, helpfully labeled as such (because clearly Merlin wouldn’t be able to tell without a label); a bag of Tesco Mixed Vegetables, helpfully decorated with a picture of a bowl of chopped up vegetables, and proudly proclaiming that they had been “Freshly Frozen!”; an assortment of tools (the glass baking dish Gwaine had retrieved from the cupboard, an array of metal measuring tins and spoons, an ugly green rectangle Gwaine termed a cutting board, and a number of dull looking knives); and the bag from the trip to Tesco’s (with the unappetizing meat, box of potatoes, and large yellow onion).

“So what else can you do?”

“Sorry?” Merlin looked up from the meat slab, glistening unnaturally in the cool lights of the kitchen. 

Gwaine was smiling, the corner of his mouth twisted up, as he used a knife to slice open the translucent screen on the meat slab. “Magic. You can move coffee cups with your mind. What can you do besides _accio_?”

Merlin swallowed. “Loads of things.”

“So show me.” Gwaine pulled open one of the cabinet doors and removed a shiny silver circle set atop a shiny black base, inset with some shiny buttons. Why was everything so shiny?

Merlin shook his head and muttered “ _Léoht_ ,” and a blue orb appeared in his palm. 

“Huh,” said Gwaine, pausing midway through setting a bowl on top of the shiny machine. “Not bad.” He tilted his head towards the orb. “Though you’d get better light with a torch.”

Suddenly, the orb flickered and blinked out. Merlin frowned. He hadn’t done anything to turn it off yet. “ _Léoht_ ,” he commanded. This time, he felt nothing more than an irritated twitch of power in his fingertips. “ _Léoht_!” he tried again, a bit more forcefully, but his magic simply buzzed under his skin.

Gwaine snorted and turned back to the bowl, pouring in the contents of the box of potatoes a bit at a time.

“It’s not normally like this,” Merlin said. “It’s been acting strange ever since I got here.”

“Got where? The future?” Gwaine tugged on Merlin’s wrist, placing the box of instant potatoes in the hand that had been holding the orb of light. “Pour until that number reaches two hundred,” he said, waving his free hand at the black base which was now adorned with a glowing white _12.8 g_.

Merlin frowned as he poured potatoes and the number slowly ticked higher. “I don’t know why my magic hasn’t been responding. Sometimes when I’m learning new spells, it has trouble. But never this bad.”

“Well, you had no problem summoning that mug.” Gwaine bumped Merlin’s shoulder lightly as he unwrapped the meat. “Maybe you’re just having trouble maintaining things.”

“Are you saying I have a problem with stamina?” Merlin quirked his eyebrow.

“Practice makes perfect,” Gwaine said. “I’m happy to help with that.”

Merlin snorted, and turned back to the potatoes as the number ticked steadily towards two hundred. They stood together in silence as Gwaine scooped the meat into a pan with a long handle. “It’s done.”

“Good.” Gwaine motioned towards the cutting board with one hand while the other prodded at the meat with a spatula. “You know how to chop an onion?”

Merlin sighed. “I hate onions. Cutting them always make me cry.”

“Sadly, even in the future, they still haven’t figured out a way to fix that. Well, other than buying pre-chopped onions.” Gwaine tossed the yellow-skinned onion at Merlin. “Good job I have you to do it for me.”

An hour later, Gwaine and Merlin were sprawled out on the sofa once more, eating forkfuls of cottage pie. Merlin was pleasantly surprised by the taste. “This is better than I expected. My Gwaine’s a rubbish cook,” he said around a mouthful.

Gwaine just grinned and took another bite. “I own a cafe, Merlin. It’s one of my many talents. And I do mean _many_.”

“Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

Gwaine paused in his chewing. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They chewed in silence for a few minutes when Gwaine startled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the mobile phone. “Percy just closed the cafe,” he said, seeing Merlin’s questioning eyebrow. “Oh! That reminds me.” He squinted down at the box in his hands, performing a series of taps and swipes. “This wouldn’t happen to be Arthur, would it?”

He tossed the mobile to Merlin, who barely managed to catch it. Displayed on the tiny screen, like a miniature painting, was a perfect likeness of Arthur, his arm slung over Gwaine’s shoulders, the two of them wearing dark, close-fitting tunics and smiling broadly. They looked younger than Merlin had ever seen them, Gwaine not even sporting stubble, and Arthur’s face was not creased with worry.

“How…” he breathed.

“I think that one’s a video,” Gwaine said, ignoring Merlin’s incipient panic. “Press the triangle button underneath.”

Merlin tapped on the triangle, and the mobile rumbled under his fingertip. The figures in the portrait began to move and sound emanated from the device.

“ _Happy Christmas!”_ Gwaine was waving his free hand frantically, his left arm still slung over Arthur’s shoulders. He glanced to the side, jostling his hip against Arthur’s. “ _Go on, say something, princess.”_

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his mouth was tweaked up in a smirk. “ _Something.”_

Merlin nearly jumped as Morgana’s disembodied voice emanated from the mobile. “ _Oh, Arthur,”_ she chastised, “ _you can do better than that.”_

“ _Nope,”_ Arthur said, his smirk softening and his eyes crinkling at the corners. The sight made Merlin’s breath catch. “ _I’m completely out of Christmas spirit.”_

Gwaine twisted and planted a kiss on his jaw, and Arthur’s cheeks flushed pink. Morgana started cackling and the frame jerked, the sound cutting out and the picture freezing once more, now showing Gwaine and Arthur’s legs. Their feet were bare, and Gwaine’s ankle was hooked behind Arthur’s.

Merlin sat motionless, staring at the image. Arthur had looked happy. The only times he had ever seen Arthur — _his_ Arthur — that contented, it had been because Merlin had been the one to put the smile on his face.

Gwaine lifted the mobile away from Merlin’s stiff fingers. “We were flatmates in uni,” he said, his voice hushed. “We lived together, I mean. Until about five years ago.” His hand came to rest lightly on top of Merlin’s. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Merlin said, but his voice came out strangled.

“Do you…” Gwaine removed his hand, leaning back on the sofa. “Do you want to meet him?”

Merlin blinked, his eyes refocusing on where Gwaine was laying back against the sofa cushions. His legs were splayed open, his arms thrown back, elbows hooked over the top of the sofa. Everything in his posture hinted at relaxed nonchalance, but Merlin knew Gwaine too well. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitched restlessly, and his thigh muscles clenched faintly. 

“Why are you nervous?”

Gwaine froze, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open slightly, enough to show a sliver of pink tongue. “What—“

Merlin grinned. “You were doing your _I’m completely relaxed_ pose. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

The laughter that bubbled from Gwaine’s lips cut through the tension that had been hanging between them, and Merlin let his shoulders droop. “I guess you do know me, after all.”

Merlin bit back his smile, leaning forward with his elbows planted on his knees. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want to meet him.”

“Oh.” Gwaine recovered his grin. “I’ll see if I can arrange something. You want to go back to that pub?”

“As long as you don’t try to tumble me at the end of the evening.”

Gwaine stuck out his tongue.


	5. Arthur

When the knock sounded at two minutes to eight, Merlin nearly tripped over himself in his haste to answer the door.

Arthur was both less and more than what he had been expecting. Over the tight-fitting tunic that Merlin had grown to expect, he was wearing a thin black coat that fell to just past his hips, with a wide lapel and two rows of gold buttons. His hair was fluffed up as though he’d been running his hands through it. His face was smooth, with no traces of the familiar worry lines that Merlin always made fun of him for having. There was a dusting of stubble along his jaw and upper lip.

Best of all, he was smiling.

“‘Lo there. Is Gwaine in?”

Merlin blinked.

“Still getting dressed, feel free to come in and gawk!” Gwaine called cheerfully from the direction of the bedroom.

“Erm,” Merlin said. “Would you like to come in?”

Arthur’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m Arthur, by the way.”

“I know. Gwaine told me.”

Arthur cleared his throat. He was still standing on the welcome mat out in the hallway. “In general, when one invites someone into their flat, they don’t just stand in the doorway blocking the way.”

“Oh!” Merlin jumped back about three feet. Thankfully, he avoided tripping on anything. “Right. Sorry.”

Arthur’s smile turned wry. “You can make it up to me by telling me your name.”

“Didn’t I say?” Merlin frowned. “I’m Merlin.”

“Merlin? Seriously?” Arthur’s smile disappeared, and he turned to face towards Gwaine’s closed bedroom door. “Seriously, Gwaine?”

Gwaine opened the door a sliver and leaned out. He was shirtless, and Merlin found his gaze drifting. “I’m not pulling your leg, I swear. His name is Merlin, honest to God.”

“Well, at least you’re not setting us up. Morgana would never let me hear the end of it.”

Merlin dragged his eyes away from Gwaine’s abdominal muscles. “What?”

“My sister, Morgana.” Arthur’s smile looked more forced now, somehow, and he wasn’t meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“Let’s avoid that particular topic of conversation,” Gwaine said, pulling his shirt over his head. “We wouldn’t want our princess here to get grouchy.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” said Arthur, but he was smiling.

“Shall we?” Gwaine strode over to the door and opened it, sweeping his hand to wave Arthur through. “After you, milady.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he stepped past. “Because that joke will _never_ get old.”

“Three chocolate stouts, please. Um, can you put them on Gwaine’s tab?”

“Sure thing, love, won’t be a minute.”

Merlin turned and settled back against the bar as he waited for the young woman behind the counter to pour his pints of ale. Gwaine and Arthur were sitting at the booth, leaning close together, as Gwaine tipped his pint back and slung an arm over Arthur’s shoulder. The mask of politeness that Arthur had been wearing all night was gone, replaced by a familiar half-smirk, half-scowl as he muttered something into his beer. Gwaine merely squeezed him tighter in response. At the next thing Gwaine said, though, Arthur’s smile fell, and he visibly flinched away from Gwaine’s grip. Whatever Gwaine had said, he must have struck a nerve.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” the bartender said behind him, and Merlin whirled around, nearly knocking over the pints with his elbow.

“Sorry!” Thankfully, the woman looked more amused than anything else. Merlin quickly gathered up the pint glasses and made his way back to the table. He smiled down at Gwaine, who had scooted away from Arthur and was waggling his eyebrows at Merlin. This had been the first time tonight that Merlin had ordered a round without Gwaine there to help him.

“Where have you been all my life?” Gwaine cried as he grabbed for his glass.

“No idea.” Merlin poked Gwaine in the ribs until he made room next to him on the semi-circular booth.

“Just waiting to get in my mouth, I’d imagine.” Gwaine smirked at Merlin.

“Really?” Arthur asked, and Merlin’s gaze flit over to where he was raising an eyebrow and frowning.

Gwaine winked at Arthur. “Since we have new pints, I’d best make room.” He made a move towards Arthur, who elbowed him in the stomach. “Oi!  You should know better than to aim for my bladder when I’m about to leave for the loo.”

“Don’t even think about crawling over me.”

“Such a shame,” Gwaine said, before turning to Merlin and smiling. He twisted to face Merlin, sliding a thigh over his lap and bracketing his face with his forearms, before sliding past and out of the booth.

“Hussy,” Arthur called to Gwaine’s retreating back. Gwaine simply stuck up his fingers in a V as he stalked off, the back of his hand turned to Arthur.

Merlin scooted towards the gap that Gwaine had left. “So, um.”

Arthur took a sip of his beer.

Gwaine had helped him prepare some common topics of conversation in case of emergency. Merlin strained to remember them. It was a bit difficult through the haze of three beers. “Do you… have hobbies?” 

“Um.” Arthur blinked, and set his pint down. “I spend most of my time at the office.”

“Really?”

Arthur shrugged. “I like robots.”

“Robots. That’s… nice.” Merlin tried to remember if Gwaine had explained that word. It sounded familiar. Wasn’t that what Arthur’s company did? They made robots — which were a type of machine that functioned as manservants. Of course the Arthur of the future would find a way to replace Merlin with bits of metal.

Arthur just flashed a tight smile at Merlin and took another sip from his drink.

Merlin smiled back, but his cheeks felt tight, like he’d been forced to smile for too long. Did this man have _anything_ in common with the one Merlin knew? “How about hunting? Do you ever go hunting?”

Arthur frowned, raising an eyebrow. “No, not really.” He paused when Merlin bit his lip. “Not a lot of wild game in London.”

“Right, of course not.” What else could he ask about? Uther? “So, do you get along with your father?”

Perhaps if he hadn’t been drinking so much, he wouldn’t have blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, and Arthur wouldn’t be looking at him with that mix between puzzlement and horror.

“My _father_?”

“Back!” Gwaine said, sliding into the booth next to Merlin, shoving him inwards and closer to Arthur. “Miss me?”

“Always,” Merlin deadpanned, but Arthur apparently thought Merlin was serious, judging by his expression. It had morphed from confused embarrassment to a sort of bewildered disgust.

Gwaine stole Merlin’s half-empty pint, replacing it with his own nearly full one. “So, Arthur, you should check out the six-pack on this one. Has to be seen to be believed.”

Six-pack? What the hell was a six-pack? Merlin vaguely remembered Gwaine using the term to reference alcohol.

Arthur seemed much less enthused than Gwaine. His mouth tightened into a thin line and he turned to look towards the bar. “I’m sure it does.”

“Seriously, mate! Here, take a look.”

Merlin was not anticipating the hands that pushed up his tunic to mid-chest level, and so the scream he emitted was less masculine than he might have hoped. “What are you _doing_?” 

Gwaine simply leered at him before turning back to Arthur. “What did I tell you?”

Arthur said nothing, but he’d turned to look down at Merlin’s stomach, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. 

“Gwaine…” Merlin tried tugging his shirt back down, but Gwaine jostled his hand away with an elbow.

“Cut it out, Gwaine.”

Merlin and Gwaine both looked up at the sound of Arthur’s voice. He was glaring at Gwaine now.

Gwaine dropped his hands. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Arthur practically bared his teeth, his upper lip curling back as he spat, “You really ought to treat your boyfriends better than that.”

Merlin stared.

“What did I do that was so horrible?” Gwaine said, looking almost as furious as Arthur. He leaned across the table, slamming his fists down and making the glasses tremble. “He’s got nice abs! So sue me!”

“Just because your only requirement in a boyfriend is how bloody fit they are doesn’t mean you should… you should… have your fucking hands all over him!”

“Right here, guys,” Merlin said. He was, of course, ignored.

“First off,” Gwaine said, “I have plenty of requirements in a boyfriend. One of which being that they don’t have a stick up their arse.”

“Right!” Arthur hurled himself out of his seat, his hands slapping down on the table. Merlin grabbed for Arthur’s pint as it started to tip over. “You’ve been an arse all night. Asking me about Mordred. Showing off your fit new boyfriend who is _just my type_ and you _know it_.”

Wait, what? “Hang on!” Merlin said. “ _Not_ his boyfriend!”

Apparently this had managed to register, as Arthur whipped around to face him. “What?”

“Gwaine is _not_ my boyfriend.” Merlin frowned. “Where did you get that idea?”

Arthur turned to stare at Gwaine. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his lower lip was protruding slightly (in what Merlin would never call a pout, lest he get a bucket of water thrown on his head). “You’re living together.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “You never heard of flatmates?”

“You only have _one bed_.”

Gwaine let out a sigh and collapsed back into the booth. “He’s been sleeping on the sofa.”

Arthur frowned. “It’s just… you’ve been hitting on him all night.”

Merlin snorted. “Gwaine hits on anything that moves, you know that.”

Apparently, Arthur did, because his mouth twisted into a bemused smirk as he turned to look at Merlin. “You’ve been flirting back.”

“Have I?” Merlin frowned. “Didn’t think I had.”

Arthur straightened up then, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “So. Right. I should… get going.”

Gwaine stood as well, reaching towards Arthur before deciding against it and letting his hand drop back to his side. “Don’t leave, mate.”

Arthur shook his head. “Right, no, it’s late, and I’ve already had too much. I should…”

“At least let me call you a cab.”

“No, I’ll be fine.” When Arthur smiled, it looked more like a wince. He turned and walked over to the bar to settle his tab, and this time, Gwaine didn’t make a move to stop him.

He didn’t look at Merlin once.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Gwaine spoke. “Come on,” he said, his voice flat, “let’s go home.”

“He hated me. He’ll never want to speak to me again.” Merlin buried his head deeper in the sofa cushions and wished, in a vague sense, for someone to come clock him over the head so that he could drift back into unconsciousness. He hadn’t drunk enough beer the previous night for his head to pound this morning, but the throbbing waves of embarrassment were worse than any headache.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. That’s my job. Besides,” Gwaine added, chewing thoughtfully on his thumbnail, “it would be a lot easier if he actually hated you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Merlin asked, rolling onto his stomach so he could bury his eyelids into the fabric and shut out the sunlight that was streaming in from the balcony windows.

“If he’d hated you, I could have tricked him into an ill-fated hookup and you two could have at least had angry sex.”

Maybe he’d misheard that. “What?” Merlin rolled back over, throwing an arm back over his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. Arthur’s rubbish at one night stands.”

“Right, thanks. As helpful as this is, and all, _what do I do_?”

“I’m not going to explain the mechanics of angry sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

For that, Merlin flung his arm away just so he could open his eyes and glare at Gwaine. “No, you ass, that’s _not_ what I’m asking, and you know it. How do I get to know him if he won’t _talk_ to me?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re his friend! You know where he works, what he does in his spare time…”

“I’m not his minder! Besides, he doesn’t _have_ spare time. He’s always at the bloody office.” Gwaine tumbled onto the sofa, causing the cushions to bounce and Merlin’s stomach to jolt unpleasantly. “Wait.”

Merlin waited for the nausea to recede before speaking. “Wait, what?”

“I just had an idea.”

Merlin scowled. “Congratulations.”

“Shut up,” Gwaine said, waving a hand in Merlin’s general direction, “it’s brilliant.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Gwaine turned to glare down at Merlin. “I’m not going to tell you if you’re just going to turn up your nose.”

“Ugh, fine,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry I insulted you and your capacity for brilliant, fabulous ideas.”

Gwaine threw him a smug look and stood up to resume his pacing. “That’s a bit over the top, but I’ll take it.”

“So?” Merlin asked. He struggled to a sitting position, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “You going to _tell_ me this idea? Or do I have to guess?”

“Well, I was talking to Morgana the other day, and she said that Arthur’s secretary had just quit.”

“Um, okay?”

“You want to spend more time with him, don’t you?”

“Yes?”

“And you want to earn money so you can help with the rent?”

“Uh…”

“The answer is yes, Merlin.”

“Yes.”

Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. To be fair, Merlin had been less than enthusiastic in his response, but what did Gwaine expect? 

”Well, here we go,” Gwaine said. “Two birds, one stone.”

“Two what?”

“You get a job, and you get to know Arthur at the same time. It’s perfect.”

“Perfect? What’s perfect?” Merlin wished the thrumming in his head would go away, if only because he needed all the help he could get in trying to understand Gwaine’s side of the conversation.

Gwaine, apparently unperturbed, grinned down at Merlin. “Don’t suppose they teach you how to touch type back in Camelot?”

Merlin groaned.  “Can’t I just work for you, instead?”

“No,” Gwaine said. “Go get my laptop and we’ll start fabricating your work history.”


	6. The Glorious Life of a PA

Merlin did not like his current clothing. The rope-like object around his neck felt more like a noose than a scarf. _Tie_ , he reminded himself. Remembering all the vocabulary was the most irritating thing about this place.

The noose impression was not helped by Gwaine’s current attempts to strangle him.

“Ow!” Merlin said as Gwaine yanked the tie hard. “Are you trying to decapitate me?”

“Not yet,” Gwaine said, though the irritation in his tone implied that he might change his mind. “Do you have everything?”

Merlin nodded. “Fake work history, fake proof of identification, and mobile.” He looked down at the driving license. “How’d you learn how to make a false driving license, anyway?”

Gwaine just grinned, his eyes still on the tie in his hands as he looped it around itself. “Credit card?” 

Merlin wordlessly dug through his pocket and flashed the plastic rectangle under Gwaine’s nose.

Gwaine gave the tie one last tug and stood back to admire his handiwork, scanning Merlin’s body up and down with a leer. “I’m going in to work today. You remember how to get back to the flat when I’m not home?”

Merlin sighed, replacing the credit card and pulling the mobile out of his pocket. “As long as I have this on me, the door should automatically unlock, yes?”

“Right, so don’t lose it, or forget it in a taxi. I don’t want some murderer to steal my spare phone and break into the flat.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin replied, “If someone breaks into the flat and slits your throat, I’ll make sure to avenge your death.”

“I see how it is,” Gwaine said. “You’ll go through time and space to save Arthur from dying, but you’ll just let me stay dead.”

“Well, you _are_ more annoying than Arthur—“

“Out!” Gwaine said, stifling his laughter as he shoved Merlin through the front door. “Get out of my flat, you ingrate!”

“What qualities do you feel make you an ideal candidate for this job, Mister…”

“Emrys.”

“Mister Emrys.”

“Well, ah, I’m… a quick study.” And a good job too, since he’d had just over a month to learn everything from computers to toilets to televisions. It seemed his only applicable skills from before were laundry, cooking, and mucking out the stables. Not that there were any stables to muck.

And thank the gods for that.

The interviewer looked bored already. “Ah,” Merlin scrambled to add, “I’m also good at, uh, communication. You know. Talking. Explaining things. I have a way with words, you could say.”

“I can see that.”

“Better when I’m not under pressure. You know. I also have very descriptive insults when the occasion calls for it.”

The interviewer’s thin smile contorted into a confused frown. “I see.”

_No, you don’t._

“Other skills. I, ah, am good at taking orders. Well, not good, but used to it. That is, I’m good at fulfilling ridiculous requests and having abuse showered down on my head. I talk back. You know. Call my boss a prat, when he’s being one. Helps morale, you know.”

The woman’s mouth had now curved deeply downward, her eyebrows marking a great furrow. “Well. What would you call your greatest weakness?”

“Probably calling my boss a prat. Yeah.”

His interviewer forced a sunny smile. She looked constipated. “Thank you for your time, Mister Emrys. We’ll… be in touch.”

Merlin winced. “Look, can I just talk to Morgana or something?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Many of our interviewees request a private consultation with Miss Le Fay, but I’m afraid due to timing constraints it’s simply impossible to-“

Merlin jumped up from the itchy rolling chair that had been his prison for the past thirty minutes. “Look, I just saw her pass by, I’ll flag her down right quick and say hello.”

“Mister Emrys, I’m afraid that’s not-“

So Merlin leapt up, threw open the door to the interview room, and bellowed, “Oi, Morgana!”

Morgana, who was, in fact, lurking just outside the room, jumped, trying very hard not to look like someone who was desperately hoping this interview would work out, so that she could just find a blasted PA for her brother. “Hello?”

Merlin beamed. God, he’d missed not-evil Morgana. Assuming this one wasn’t evil. Best not to dwell on that. “The name’s Merlin; I’m interviewing to be Arthur’s personal assistant.”

“Merlin! That’s… an odd name.”

“Blame my mum.”

Morgana laughed despite her best efforts, and she raised one hand to her mouth in an effort to get back her decorum. “You’re the one Gwaine warned me about, aren’t you?”

Merlin took a bow, struggling to keep his grin in check. “The one and only.”

“So, Merlin. What makes you think we should hire you?”

“Because Arthur’s a prat, and I’m not afraid to tell him that.”

Morgana’s face broke into a wide grin. “When can you start?”

Arthur was sitting at his desk when Merlin came into the office. “Ah, hello,” said Merlin.

Arthur remained looking down at his desk as he spoke. “Did no one ever inform you it’s rude to interrupt?”

Merlin blinked. “I was not aware I was interrupting, sire.”

At this, Arthur did look up, an expression of bemusement on his face. “ _Sire_?”

Merlin could tell the precise moment that Arthur recognised him. His eyes widened, his brow smoothed out from furrowed bewilderment to surprise, his mouth formed a perfectly round oh, and the breath he was holding huffed out in a rush. “You!”

Merlin lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Yes, hello.”

Arthur scowled, attempting to hide how badly he’d been rattled by Merlin’s appearance. 

“Should I call you sire?” Merlin asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or do you prefer Arthur?”

“ _Sir_ will do just fine, thank you, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin smiled brightly. “Sir it is, then.”

This simply made Arthur scowl more. “As I recall, I’m not paying you to stand around.” He grabbed a sheaf of papers and tossed them at Merlin. “Make a copy of these and fetch me a coffee while you’re at it.”

“Copy?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Even though you’re new, I’m assuming you aren’t entirely incompetent. The copier is in the office supply room on this floor. Take your first left after the break room.”

Merlin stood there, clutching the papers. “First left. Right. I mean, left.”

Arthur frowned at Merlin for a few moments before waving his hand dismissively. “Go?”

Merlin jumped, startled, as he realised he’d just been standing there staring stupidly at Arthur. “Oh! Yes. I’ll be going now.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly back down at his desk as Merlin fled the office.

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin had still not found the copier. He had, however, found Uther’s office, Morgana’s office, the lunch room, the break room, the women’s toilets (fat lot of good that did him) and the Data Center, whatever that was, full of strange boxes set with blinking lights and cranky looking blokes wearing fitted tunics with apparently clever slogans. He’d have to ask Gwaine about “Bow before me, for I am root.”

Arthur was going to be furious when Merlin got back. If he got back. Maybe he should just go back to Gwaine’s flat and crawl onto the sofa and stay there for a few days. Or weeks. Surely a life of misery and boredom was better than facing cranky, prattish Arthur in a rage over coffee.

Merlin was seriously considering hiding in the women’s toilets when he collided with a young woman who was hurrying to her destination without looking. After an “oof” emitted from both parties, Merlin looked up from where he was sprawled on the ground to see a familiar brown face, bright eyes, and mop of dark curls.

He just managed to stop himself from blurting out her name. Instead, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m so sorry!” Gwen babbled. “I wasn’t looking, I’m such a klutz. Really, I am terribly sorry-“

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, grinning. He got to his feet and reached out to offer a hand. Gwen accepted it with a bashful smile and Merlin pulled her to her feet, still grinning. “I’m Merlin, by the way.”

“Merlin? You must be Arthur’s new PA! I’m Gwen. Pleased to meet you!”

Merlin’s grin spread even wider, and he could feel the resulting pinch in his cheeks. “Lovely to meet you, Gwen.”

They both smiled at each other for a few moments, before Gwen startled. “Oh! Well, I need to drop this off,” she said, gesturing with the unruly mass of papers clutched in her hands, “but maybe we could grab lunch?”

“Yeah! I’d love to.” Merlin smiled sunnily, and Gwen beamed right back at him. “Oh, before you go — do you happen to know where the, ah, copy making thing is?”

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “You mean the photocopier?”

“Yes, that.”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

When they reached the office supply room, Merlin poked his head inside before stopping abruptly in his tracks.

“Look, it’s not so bad. You want one copy, yes?”

Merlin was still staring in horror at the supposed photocopier. It was huge, almost half as tall as him and just as wide, with a number of funny looking slots and fiddly bits and levers and whatsits. The whole thing was a sickly grey colour.

“One copy. Yes.”

Gwen grabbed for the stack of papers clutched loosely in Merlin’s fist and stuffed them into one of the many maws of the copier. She punched a few of the raised buttons on the front, muttering as she went. “It’s double-sided, so we’ll want to use duplex, and let’s stick with greyscale, since there aren’t any images on the source, as far as I can see. Standard letter size, one copy, and, oh! Merlin, this copier has a stapler function. It’ll staple everything for you! It’s more impressive when there’s more than one copy, but still.”

With a final button press, the machine jumped to life, emitting a strange whirring sound that made Merlin jump. It was fortunate that he didn’t have the full use of his magic here; if he had, he might have accidentally stopped time or set something on fire.

“Whoah there,” Gwen cautioned. “Are you all right, Merlin?”

“F-fine.”

Gwen snorted, blushed, and started apologising profusely, but Merlin was too focused on the machine to notice. It was now spitting out pieces of paper from a different orifice, which were slotting neatly into a tray. When all twelve sheets had been spat out, the papers jerked down and to the left and another whirring noise signalled, apparently, that the copy was made, as Gwen grabbed it with pomp and circumstance and handed it gravely over to Merlin. “Keep it secret,” she said, “keep it safe.”

Once again, Merlin felt like he was missing something, but smiled politely at her. “None will see the contents, milady. Other than me. And you. And Arthur. And whoever Arthur gives it to.”

Gwen giggled, long and loud, before glancing at the clock on the wall. “Oh, bollocks, Morgana’s going to flay me.” Racing for the door, she paused midway, whirled around, and said, “Noon!” before darting off again, papers in hand.

Merlin giggled all the way back to Arthur’s office.

It wasn’t until he was through the office door, staring at an exceedingly grumpy Arthur, that he remembered the bit about the coffee.

When Merlin burst through the front doors of Cafe Avalon, Gwaine glanced up from the till and threw him a bewildered look, eyebrows arching.

To be fair, Merlin probably looked terrible. His hair had been buffeted by the wind outside, and his cheeks were flushed pink from running in the cold. Then there was the inevitably mad look in  his eyes, since he had run the entire way in an attempt to keep Arthur from breaking into a flailing heap without his apparently beloved coffee.

Thankfully, the cafe was mostly catering to the lunch crowd at this time of day, and Gwaine waved Merlin over to the counter with a now smug smile.

“How’s your first day so far?” he asked as soon as Merlin strode up to the counter.

“Fine,” Merlin said, as neutrally as possible. “I need one coffee, please.”

Gwaine smirked. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy.”

“Just give me the damn coffee, Gwaine.”

“ _Merlin_.”

Merlin just sighed as Gwaine turned back to the infernal espresso machine (on reflection, Merlin could understand why Gwaine refused to let him work here) and started fiddling with the dials. He silently frothed the milk, sneaking occasional amused glances at Merlin.

Merlin’s shoulders slumped as Gwaine pumped two squirts of sweetener and reached for the espresso shots. “Arthur’s a prat.”

Gwaine just laughed, not bothering to look away from where he was carefully pouring the espresso into the cup. “And this is a surprise because…?”

“Yes, yes,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes, as he leaned against the counter, his elbows digging into the marble. “Laugh it up. You’re the one I’m going to keep up at night with my wretched sobbing.”

Gwaine grinned with his stupidly sparkly teeth as he fastened the lid and handed it over to Merlin. “This one’s on the house. In return, I expect full details when I get home.”

Merlin felt colour rise to his cheeks and he covered up the unexpected flush of gratitude with a scowl. “You better hope this coffee redeems me. Otherwise Arthur may murder me before the day’s out.”

“Just wiggle your arse at him. I’m sure he’ll forget any wrongdoing.”

“Shut _up_ , Gwaine!” Merlin was sure there was no hiding his blush now.

“Good luck with the Princess!” Gwaine called as Merlin shouldered his way through the cafe door. Sadly, Merlin didn’t manage to cover up his responding snort.

“Ah,” Arthur said, as Merlin marched up and plonked the coffee cup down in front of him. “I see you’re not entirely incompetent.” He cleared his throat, and Merlin’s stomach sank. “However, I did mean for you to get me coffee from the coffee machine. You know? The one in the break room?” He raised an eyebrow.

Merlin blushed, for what felt like the hundredth time today. “You told me to get coffee. I got your damn coffee. Now drink it.”

Arthur snorted. “If you insist.” He tipped the coffee cup almost idly up to his mouth. As he took a sip, his eyes fluttered shut and his cheeks hollowed just the tiniest amount. Merlin felt himself swallow reflexively as he watched.

Arthur’s expression grew puzzled and his eyes darted over to meet Merlin’s. “Who gave you this?” He turned the coffee cup and looked at the plain brown heat strip, the lack of branding, and finally the WART scribbled on the side in black marker. “You told Gwaine who the coffee was for?”

Merlin blinked. “I… what?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure he didn’t spit in it?”

“No guarantees.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Merlin fought the urge to adjust his tie or tuck his hair back behind his ears.

“Look, I’m sorry I was so hard on you earlier. I know first days are hard. Just.” Arthur scrubbed one hand through his hair and glanced down at his desk. “Look, thanks for the coffee, yeah? And maybe you can spend the rest of the day setting up your desk and exploring the building? You know, so you don’t get lost again.”

“I wasn’t lost,” Merlin replied, slipping into the comfortable back-and-forth bickering he was used to doing with Arthur. “I just didn’t know where I needed to go.”

“Right,” Arthur said, the vowel dragging along his tongue and a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“Exactly. Glad you understand.”

Arthur snorted. “Best get out of my office while I’m still in a good mood from the coffee.”

Merlin grinned and started backing out of the office, his eyes still trained on Arthur. “If this is you in a good mood…”

“Make sure to bring the coffee before noon tomorrow, yes?”

“Noon?” Merlin’s eyes widened as he glanced at the clock, which read quarter past twelve. He was late for meeting Gwen. “Shite! I’ll see you later!”

And as he dashed out of the door, he could have sworn he heard Arthur’s laughter ringing after him.


	7. Trouble in Paradise

“Morgana! How are you this fine day?”

Morgana laughed, the sound cascading from her throat like champagne. “Quite well, Merlin, and yourself?”

Merlin wrangled the espresso marked with a curly script _M_ out of the drinks holder and set it down on Morgana’s desk with a flourish.

Morgana took a careful sip before smiling and letting out an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “Thank you for the coffee, as always.”

Merlin grinned. “Have you seen Gwen? I got her something new this morning, and wanted to see what she thought of it.”

“Oh?” Morgana asked, still smiling.

Merlin leaned forward, voice pitched low in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s called a Chai.”

Morgana laughed, low and loud, the reverberations echoing through Merlin’s chest. “You’re quite the adventurous one, aren’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin felt his ears grow hot, but he tried to cover up his discomfiture with a small smile. “You know me. Wild and crazy.” Apparently this _chai_ thing wasn’t as new and exciting as he’d initially hoped. I mean, really, spicy tea? Sounded bizarre to Merlin. And it had tasted strange too. He wasn’t above sneaking sips of other people’s coffee.

“Off with you then!” Morgana made a shooing motion with her hands. “Arthur will be cranky today without his favourite secretary.”

“I’m not a secretary!”

“I know, I know. Personal assistant. Whatever.” Morgana shot Merlin a flippant smile. “Go get him his coffee before he sends out an angry memo or something.”

Merlin shot her a parting grin before dodging out the door of her office. As soon as he shut the door behind him, however, he heard someone calling his name. Someone posh and rather irritated.

“Merlin! Where the bloody hell have you been?”

Merlin whirled around to face the owner of the angry voice, who was striding towards Gwen’s desk purposefully. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, don’t you bloody start, it’s been an awful week. Where’s my coffee?”

Merlin handed over Arthur’s caramel macchiato, two shots of espresso, heavy on the whip cream. “I made it as horrifically sweet as you requested, sir.”

Arthur took a sip and grimaced. “Make it three shots of espresso next time.” He whirled around and started pacing down the hall, back to his office.

Merlin set the chai on Gwen’s desk before running to catch up with Arthur. “You might not need as much caffeine if you actually got the proper amount of sleep, you know.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Giving me health advice, Merlin? I wasn’t aware you were a doctor as well as a personal assistant.”

“Oh, yes. I know all about poultices and medicinal herbs. Oh, and leeches.”

“Fantastic things, leeches. I heard they were all the rage in the middle ages.”

“Very fashionable. But cleaning their cages is a nightmare.”

Arthur paused in front of the door to his office, hand resting on the knob. “You do realise I’m not paying you for your scintillating conversational skills and in-depth knowledge on leeches, yes?”

Merlin grinned and picked up the paper bag sitting on his desk. “Got you a blueberry muffin this morning. Gwaine says hi, by the way.”

“Excellent. Tell him to bugger off.” Arthur dug into the bag for his muffin. “Don’t think I’m going to be nicer to you, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking a cautious nibble. “Just because you’re trying to butter me up doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for your nefarious schemes. I can see right through you. Trying to make me _fat_.”

“Who says you’re not fat already?”

“Oi! I’m fit, and don’t you forget that.”

Merlin sniggered and sat down in his desk chair.

“When’s my next appointment?” Arthur asked around a mouthful of muffin.

Merlin peered at the calendar on his computer screen. “Eleven, with, ah, some important people.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you Merlin, as ever, your way with words is simply astounding.”

“I do try.”

“Well, try to get some work done between now and eleven.” Arthur ducked into his office. “You still haven’t finished entering those twelve pages of financial data I gave you last Thursday, have you?”

Merlin sighed. “Still working on it.”

“Well, work harder. Do I need to enrol you in a typing class, Merlin?”

Merlin grimaced. “No, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Do shut up and get back to work, Merlin.”

Before Merlin had a chance to retort, the door had clicked shut behind Arthur.

Merlin groaned before settling in and picking up the second page of the printout, pinching it between two fingers with his nose wrinkled in distaste. Entering the data from the first page had taken him hours, and he still had eleven pages left. Mumbling something about the stupidity of data entry and entitled prats, he opened his “spreadsheet” program and started pecking away at the keyboard.

What felt like hours but was, in all probability, less than twenty minutes later, Merlin heard a ding and saw a message pop up on his screen.

 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _I can hear your typing from in here. For god’s sake, are you hunting and pecking?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _am i what?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _You know, I was kidding about that typing class, but now I’m not so sure._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _are you saying there is something wrong with me?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _There are many things wrong with you, Merlin._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Typing is only one of a great many on the list of your flaws._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _And yet, I still haven’t fired you._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Perhaps there’s something wrong with me as a manager._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _you are such a prat._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Remind me again why I haven’t fired you yet?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _because i am cute._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _sorry that just slipped out._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _because i bring you coffee?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _That is correct. Coffee. See that you continue to do so._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _as you wish._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Was that an intentional reference?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _was what a reference?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Never mind. Carry on, then. Go back to your incredibly efficient typing._

Merlin bit his lip before clicking once more on the spreadsheet program. It made sense that he would feel a bit lost; he was in an entirely different life than he was used to, after all. Perhaps it was too much to hope for that his relationship with Arthur would go right back to the way it had been in Camelot.

It turned out not to matter, anyway.

If Merlin never saw a bloody personnel sheet again, it would be too soon. Whoever had invented the art of data entry deserved to be shot on sight. Merlin sighed and considered the merits of braining himself on his desk to distract from the numb ache in his hands and fingers from all the bloody data entry.

As Merlin was pondering the wood grain of the table top his forehead was resting against, he heard the creak of the door behind him. He sat up in a hurry and turned to see Arthur, hand on the doorknob, looking at him with a solemn expression.

He had been expecting some sort of joking remark about lying down on the job, but Arthur only said, “Merlin, can I see you in my office?” and then he disappeared, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Something was definitely wrong. Merlin turned off his monitor and strode over to Arthur’s office door, not bothering to neaten the papers on his desk.

Inside the office, Arthur was seated at his desk, eyes scanning a pile of documents. “Sit,” he said, not bothering to look up at Merlin.

Merlin stood for a moment, hovering, but Arthur continued to ignore him, so he finally sat, sinking into the red cushion of the armchair in front of Arthur’s desk. After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur finally spoke. 

“It seems like there may have been a mix-up when you submitted your application.”

Merlin stared. 

“If there’s anything you need to tell me…” He raised an eyebrow and waited. 

_Yes, actually. I’m a time traveller and I’m trying to save your past self from a horrible death. I used to have magic, but I don’t anymore. I know nothing about computers and I only got this job so I could be close to you._

_I think I might be in love with you._

“No,” he said.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, and he pushed a pile of papers over to Merlin’s side of the table. “Do you recognise these documents?”

The papers consisted of Merlin’s photocopied driving license and work history.

“Yes,” Merlin said, and it took all of his willpower to not make it sound like a question. “I submitted them when I…” What was the word for it, again? “Applied for the position.”

Arthur sighed. “Merlin, are you sure you intended to submit this? It’s not… the wrong version?”

“Wrong version? No. There’s just the one version.”

Arthur turned a bit pink. He tapped his finger on a point about a third of the way down the page. “This phone number, for your last employer? Is it correct?”

Merlin was starting to get irritated at Arthur’s incessant questions. “Yes!” he snapped, and frowned down at the offending number. Gwaine had put everything together for him; had said it would be fine.

Arthur withdrew his hands and let them rest in his lap. His next words were even, carefully measured. “Why did you lie on your curriculum vitae?”

Merlin blinked. “Lie?”

“HR didn’t notice the discrepancy, but I did. These are all Gwaine’s mobile numbers and false email addresses, and the supervisor names either don’t exist, or they no longer work for those companies. The companies themselves, of course, exist, and they’re all big. Nameless. The kind of place where an employee could easily fall into the cracks. Plausible deniability.”

“I don’t…”

Arthur’s mouth thinned. “None of these companies actually hired you, did they?”

Merlin fidgeted. “You’re right, I must have given you the wrong copy.”

Arthur’s face twisted terribly, his mouth pursed in a grimace and his eyes cold. “There were some imperfections on your driving license as well. Apparently you and Percy share the exact same birthday.”

“Weird coincidence, huh?”

Arthur slammed his fist down on the table. “I’m serious! What the hell is wrong with you?” He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to regain his calm. “Is Merlin even your real name?”

“Yes! Of course it is—“

“Merlin, you _lied_ to me.” Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, now towering over Merlin. “What were you trying to get out of this job? Money? Power? Are you looking to blackmail my father? Learn company secrets? _What_? I need to know!”

Merlin stared up at Arthur, eyes wide. He’d seen him angry before. But right now he looked afraid, his face pale and his knuckles white from where they were clenching against the edge of the desk. “You,” Merlin blurted.

Arthur let go of the desk and took a step backward, his expression scrunching into one of confusion. “Me? What about me? Are you planning on sneaking poison into my espresso?”

Merlin jerked backward as though he had been slapped. The image of Arthur, twitching helplessly under his hands, sprang to the forefront of his mind.

_No. I’ll fix you. Just hold on, Arthur, please—_

“Merlin?” A warm hand wrapped around his shoulder, jolting him out of his memories.

When his eyes refocused, he saw that Arthur was looking at him intently, concern etched into his features. This was an expression he had never seen before on Arthur’s face. Merlin knew Arthur had cared about Merlin, but he was never so raw, so open, so _visible_ …

Arthur pulled back, his expression shuttering. Merlin’s shoulder ached from the loss.

“Gods, Arthur, I would never…” 

“Then explain it to me!”

Merlin shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just let it go. But it was too late now. “I,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I wanted to get to know you.”

Arthur scowled. “Look, Merlin. I don’t know about how things are done where you’re from, but, well, on planet Earth, in the _solar system_ ,” Merlin winced at this, but Arthur just kept on going, “when one bloke likes another bloke, he usually asks him out for a coffee. He doesn’t use a false identity and make up a CV of fabricated work history in order to get hired as his _personal assistant_. A rubbish personal assistant, at that.”

“So, you’re saying, I should have asked you out for a coffee?”

Arthur just stared.

Merlin bit his lip. “Is it too late for that, then?”

“Christ, Merlin! What is _wrong_ with you?” Arthur shook his head. “Do you realise how serious this is? If my father found out you had obtained a position here on false pretences…” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just get your stuff and go.”

“What?”

“Merlin…” On seeing Merlin’s look of confusion, Arthur clarified, “You lied on your job application. You lied to _me._ I have to let you go.”

Merlin knew that had to be a euphemism for something… “You’re sacking me?“

“Please, just go. Don’t make this any worse.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. How was he supposed to save Arthur if he couldn’t even talk to him? But this wasn’t _his_ Arthur, and he needed to keep reminding himself of that. Before he could lose his nerve, Merlin stumbled to his feet and fled the office.

Gwaine didn’t look up when the bell above the shop door tinkled, but he did notice when Merlin came up behind the counter. “Merlin! Did Arthur need an extra espresso today?” 

Merlin ignored Gwaine, angling his body so that he wouldn’t touch him as he slunk past, and going into the back kitchen. He expected to feel more… well, more. Right now he was numb, and not feeling much of anything.

The door to the kitchen whispered open and shut again. Merlin could feel Gwaine’s warm presence behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

“What happened?”

 _Your stupid idea ruined everything._ “It’s nothing, Gwaine.”

“It’s not nothing.” Gwaine shouldered past Merlin and turned to face him. He stretched out a hand to grasp his upper arm, but seemed to think better of it at the last minute, and his arm fell uselessly to his side. “You’re hiding.”

“Don’t.” Merlin was embarrassed to hear his own voice cracking. “I need a moment, is all.”

They were silent for a long moment, Gwaine trying to burn a hole into Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin looking pointedly at the kitchen sink, eyes tracing the gleaming curves of stainless steel.

If nothing else, Gwaine’s irritating persistence was distracting Merlin from the rest of his day. He turned to look him in the eye, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have customers?”

“Percy is perfectly capable of running things for a few minutes.” Gwaine flashed a grin and turned to rummage through the refrigerator. “Can you help me taste test this next batch of orange cranberry scones?”

Merlin let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Trust me,” said Gwaine, “this is a time-tested method of getting over heartbreak.”

After eating his sixth orange scone, Merlin had felt somewhat bloated and more than a little nauseous. When he said as much, Gwaine had slipped into the front to have a hushed conversation with Percy. A few minutes later, he had bundled Merlin outside and flagged down a taxi.

Once they’d gotten to the flat, Gwaine had pressed down on his shoulders and forced him to sit down on the sofa with a whumpf.

Merlin had sunk down onto the sofa and just… lain there. For a while. He wasn’t really aware of time passing, but it was noticeably darker in the room when Gwaine shook him awake and proclaimed that they were having a night in.

Merlin squinted down at the mess on the coffee table. Six green bottles were nestled into a colourful folded paper holder labelled “Grolsch.” Next to them were a variety of foods, most of them still in their packaging - Jammy Dodgers, Walkers prawn cocktail crisps, and Maltesers.

“Behold the healing powers of junk food, booze, and crap telly!”

“Right,” said Merlin, as Gwaine prodded him into a sitting position.

“Prepare yourself,” Gwaine said, “for the best ninety minutes of television you have ever experienced.” He pursed his lips. “Granted, I’m not sure you’ve ever actually experienced anything to compare it to.”

The title _Demolition Dudes_ flashed across the screen in big block letters. “What is this?”

“Only the _best film ever made_.” He shushed Merlin with a wave of his arm and used a metal lever to pull the lid off of one of the glass bottles. “With the possible exception of Terminator. That’s just classic.”

Merlin frowned as the screen of the television flickered red and orange and a loud crack sounded. “Why does this film have so much fire?”

“They’re called explosions,” Gwaine corrected as he picked the remains of an Aero bar out of his teeth. “Explosions have been scientifically proven to reduce the duration of heartbreak.”

“And why is that woman crawling out of a gigantic bank of flames with only minor singe marks?”

“That’s Sharktooth Harden. She’s so amazing that even fire can’t touch her.”

“Who names their daughter Sharktooth?”

“Who names their son Merlin?”

“Someone with class and taste.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. “Now shut up and drink your beer.”

Things got a bit fuzzy after that.

“Gwaine,” Merlin whined, turning his bottle upside down. “I’m out of beer again.”

“Time for the tequila!” Gwaine shot to his feet, throwing the duvet in disarray. “To the kitchen!” He turned and faced Merlin when he reached the refrigerator. “What am I getting again?”

Merlin frowned. “Keel something? Eel-a?”

“I don’t see any eels in here. There’s some jalapeño poppers though.”

Merlin stole Gwaine’s bottle from the arm of the sofa and settled deeper into the cushions. He had just started dozing off when Gwaine trudged back in with a plate full of jalapeño poppers.

“Hey, when did we run out of beer?”

Merlin shrugged and took another swig. He let his eyes fall shut as Gwaine huffed an irritated sigh and stomped back to the kitchen.

He cracked his eyes open to Gwaine prodding him in the side. As soon as Merlin slapped his hand away, Gwaine leaned back against the sofa. 

“Why Arthur?” Gwaine asked. Merlin’s eyes flickered back to the television, as the woman on screen crawled on his hands and knees through a tiny metallic cavern with a knife trapped between her teeth.

“What do you mean, why Arthur?”

“Why’s he so important?”

Merlin sighed. “Because he’s my _destiny_.”

“That’s bollocks.”

“It’s not bollocks. It’s important. He’s important. He’s going to be king, someday.”

“But why do you have to be friends?”

Merlin glared. “Because he’s important!”

“But _why_?”

“Because he’s my best friend, you ass.”

“Why can’t I be your best friend?”

“You are. It’s just…”

“Yeah?”

“Arthur’s special.”

Gwaine just lifted his eyebrow doubtfully and took a swig from his new bottle.

“I just…” Merlin picked at the label on his bottle with his thumbnail. On screen, the heroine handed over the locked cargo container of criminals to the authorities. “I miss him, all right?”

Gwaine’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “All right.”


	8. Cooking Classes

“I see you still haven’t moved since yesterday,” Gwaine commented, as he shouldered the flat door shut behind him. “Or the day before. Or the day before that.”

Merlin groaned and peeked between his fingers. Thumps emanated from the kitchen, where Gwaine was setting down bags from Tesco’s.

Each thump seared a jolt of pain through Merlin’s skull. He was currently curled up on the sofa, arms wrapped around his head in an attempt to block out light and sound. Every time he twisted his head to the side a twinge of pain shot through his neck, and his mouth tasted faintly of socks. “What time is it?”

“Time for work.” Gwaine sounded far too cheerful, considering that last night he’d been just as off his head as Merlin had been. “I signed you up for a cooking class, by the way.”

“It’s not even dawn yet, you ass. And you drank almost as much as I did. How are you still standing?”

“Not my fault you can’t handle your liquor.”

“I can handle my… wait, you signed me up for what again?” Merlin attempted to scrape his tongue with his teeth, but the stale sock taste remained. “A cooking class?”

“Yes, Merlin, a cooking class.” Gwaine started slamming cabinet doors for good measure. Merlin’s head throbbed in sympathy. “If you want to work for me, you need to learn how to cook things.”

Merlin’s only response to that was a groan. The slamming doors in the kitchen stopped, and he was almost relieved, until he felt a sudden sharp pressure in his abdomen. When he opened his eyes to glare, Gwaine removed his index finger from Merlin’s belly and grinned widely, towering over the sofa. “The first class is next Sunday, at two.”

“You’ve no right to sound so bloody cheerful about it.”

Gwaine simply smiled disarmingly. “If you’d prefer, you can wake up when I do and clean the cafe. I could use someone to wash the windows.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll go to the stupid class. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Gwaine patted him on the arm. “Actually, no. I need you to clean up your shite. Percy’s coming over tomorrow.”

Merlin blinked up at him. “I hate you.”

He waited until Gwaine was gone, the door locked behind him, before crawling into Gwaine’s bed and pulling the duvet over his throbbing head.

Merlin wasn’t too sure what to make of his fellow cooking class students. Hiding in the corner, propped up next to the row of ovens, was a sketchy looking teenager with his hair stuck straight up above his head in a single column, and too many facial piercings. Merlin hadn’t even been aware you could pierce your chin. How did that even work? And he wasn’t even the youngest one there. A pair of what looked like twelve year old twins wielding forks were eyeing the knife block and whispering to each other. Merlin made a mental note to avoid them. An old man with a cane was rifling through the apron rack, and his (apparently abusive) wife kept rejecting his choices. “Too many flowers,” she cried when he pulled out one example, “and I hate red!” Apparently he was as deaf as she was colour-blind, as he happily tied the green apron around his waist and tottered back to his stool. Another pair of young women, the only sane looking people in the room, had been chatting quietly together when Merlin first entered, and were now smiling at each other soppily. And holding hands.

He was just about to pick out a stool in between the dysfunctional elderly couple and the diabolic siblings when the door to the classroom opened and a familiar blond head popped through. “Sorry to interrupt, is this the cooking class?“ 

His eyes met Merlin’s, and the words died in his throat.

Merlin raised an eyebrow as Arthur straightened, a muscle below his left eye spasming. “I am going to _kill_ her,” he said, and then walked straight over to Merlin’s seat. “Hello.”

Merlin ignored him.

“Giving me the silent treatment? Really?”

Merlin lifted his hand to his mouth and feigned a yawn.

“Don’t act like a four year old, Merlin.”

Merlin turned his head to look at where Arthur was standing. He was still in his business suit — Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if he had come straight from the office, even though it was Sunday — and his shirt was slightly rumpled, as if he’d been tugging at his tie. He was clutching his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles were starting to turn white from the pressure. 

“I’m not acting like a four year old.”

Arthur grit his teeth, the muscles of his jaw twitching. “I’m overjoyed to hear that.”

“Do you mind?” Merlin jerked his head, indicating the row of seats behind him. “I was actually looking forward to this class before you came in.”

It was at this moment that the cooking instructor, a rotund, balding Irishman with a goatee wearing a combination of blue jeans, checked over-shirt, and a puffy white chef’s hat, clapped his hands at the front of the room. “Good afternoon, everyone! We’ll be working in pairs for this first lesson, but I see that there is an odd number of students—“

Merlin exhaled a sigh of relief. Next to him, Arthur apparently did the same.

“My girlfriend’s running late,” the pierced teen interrupted. “I just got a text.”

“In that case,” the instructor said, smiling broadly, “we’ll let you wait for her. Does everyone else have a partner?”

Merlin glanced around the room, hoping desperately that he was not going to be stuck with Arthur, of all people. But, no; the overly friendly women were now sharing a single stool, the abusive couple were huddling close together, and the tiny knife children looked perfectly content seated next to the rack of kitchen tools. 

Arthur and Merlin turned at the same time, looking at each other with dawning horror.

“Looks like we’re all set, then!” the instructor called out. “Who’s ready to make some meatballs?”

As Merlin walked back towards his and Gwaine’s flat, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he and Arthur hadn’t really spoken for the entire duration of the cooking class. Beyond the odd grunt or gruff instruction, Arthur had remained silent, and had barely even looked at Merlin. 

His stomach was twisting uncomfortably as he strode along the pavement, hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground in front of his feet. This was the only reason, he would tell himself later, why he stopped when he felt the hand close around his arm, why he didn’t keep on walking, why he turned around and stood silently as Arthur said, “Merlin,” in a pained voice.

He was distracted, that was all. That must have been the reason Merlin couldn’t stop staring. His thoughts were stuck in some sort of feedback loop, stuck on the aching familiarity of his ruffled blond hair, the crooked teeth, the desperation in those blue eyes.

“Look, I’ll drop the class,” Arthur was saying, and Merlin blinked as the meaning sunk in. “Morgana must have signed me up as some kind of joke. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” Merlin blurted.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. Merlin’s chest ached. “Of course I don’t. So I’ll talk to the instructor, then—“

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Merlin clarified. 

Arthur stopped, blinked. His eyes flickered over Merlin’s face, assessing. “Really?”

“Well,” Merlin said, after an awkward silence. Arthur did, in fact, make Merlin uncomfortable. There was something entirely unsettling about talking to a man who was both your best friend and a complete stranger at the same time. Arthur’s face was less lined with worry, with responsibility, but he still looked at him sometimes in that way that stripped Merlin’s secrets bare, said, _I know you_. The way that said, _I know you, and I still like you._

“You could have told me,” Arthur said, his voice hushed, barely audible over the hum of traffic and the buzz of electricity and machinery that always haunted Merlin in this place, this time.

“Told you what?” Merlin said, his voice too loud in comparison, grating.

Arthur’s gaze faltered, something shuttering over his expression, and Merlin felt his stomach clench like it always did when he lied to Arthur. _You don’t think magic is inherently evil, surely?_

“Look,” Merlin said, “if I had told you the truth, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “No? Did it occur to you that I would rather judge that for myself? I’m not a child.”

Merlin tilted his head. What did he have to lose, really? If this Arthur wouldn’t accept him, well, he still had another one, back in Camelot, who needed him. “Fine. You really want to know?”

Arthur frowned. “Of course I do.”

“I’m magic.”

Arthur blinked, and his face fell. “I’m serious, Merlin.”

“I am too.” Merlin sighed, bit his lip, and prayed to whatever gods still existed in this stupid place that he’d be able to get his magic to work this time. He stretched his hand out in front of Arthur, and whispered, “ _Leoht_.”

An orb of blue light unfurled in his palm. Arthur was staring at Merlin’s hand, his mouth parted and his eyes glassy.

“Oh,” Arthur said.

Merlin closed his fist as the light blinked out.

After an eternity, Arthur spoke. “Magic, then.”

“Magic,” Merlin agreed, his stomach swooping somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

“Well.” His voice sounded strangled.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, tugging at his sleeve. His heart was pounding like mad, and his mouth was dry, as he watched Arthur carefully.

“I suppose I can understand not wanting to tell me,” Arthur finally said.

“Um.”

There was half a beat of silence, and then Arthur said, “So I’ll see you next week, then?” When Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s, he could see fear there, yes, but also, something like hope. Whatever Arthur saw reflected back at him must have satisfied him, because his tentative smile morphed into a smirk and his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, a little breathless, and with no idea why.

“Good,” Arthur said, and he turned on his heel and started walking back the way he’d come.

Merlin spent the next week alternating between second guessing himself, freaking out and beaming like a madman at the thought of Arthur actually speaking to him again. He’d been vibrating inside his skin when he came back to the flat after the first lesson, and Gwaine had pushed him down on the sofa and flopped down next to him. “Good, I won’t have to kick his arse.”

Merlin blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“You look happy.”

“You _knew_ ,” Merlin accused, but it was halfhearted at best.

Gwaine, of course, ignored him. “So what did he say? Did you tell him about the wizard from Camelot bit?”

Merlin shook his head as he played with a stray thread on the sofa arm. “No, not exactly.” He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered Arthur’s smile and the promise of next time.

“What happened? Did he snog you?” Gwaine’s grin turned lecherous. “I need details. Filthy, lurid details.”

“I… what? Snog?”

Gwaine batted his eyelashes, puckered his lips and leaned into Merlin’s space. Merlin shoved him away. “Augh!” Merlin said. “Get away from me!”

“But Merlin! I’m merely demonstrating snogging! This is entirely for your benefit.” Each sentence was punctuated by a loud smacking of the lips.

Merlin reached behind him, grabbed the sofa cushion, and pulled it over his head to hit Gwaine in the face. Gwaine wrestled the cushion from him and started smacking him in the side with one hand and tickling Merlin’s ribs with the other. Merlin yelped and started kicking Gwaine’s shins.

It devolved from there.

No matter how many times Merlin insisted there had been no snogging, Gwaine didn’t believe him.

Stepping into the classroom on Sunday, one week after he’d last seen Arthur, Merlin found his heart beating at double time when he scanned the room and saw a blond head bending over a cookbook. It looked like Arthur hadn’t come straight from the office this time; he was wearing a forest green jumper, with the sleeves rolled up his biceps to reveal a cream shirt nestled just above his elbows. Merlin’s gaze drifted down to take in Arthur’s tight blue jeans. Very tight. He felt heat spring to his cheeks when Arthur shifted his weight from one leg to the other and the muscles flexed underneath the denim.

Oh, gods, Merlin was staring at Arthur’s arse.

He forced his head back up just in time, as Arthur looked up from the book and turned to glance over his shoulder. He broke into a grin and turned to lean against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Merlin did not look down, but it was a near thing.

The rest of the class filtered in over the next few minutes. Merlin was relieved to see the bloodthirsty twins were sitting in the far corner of the room, though he was less than overjoyed to see they were strategically placed by the knife block and the culinary torch.

Whoever thought that giving twelve year olds access to a portable flame would be a good idea?

“So how’ve you been?”

Merlin looked away from the creepy twins and back to Arthur. He was smiling, his limbs loose. The top three buttons of  his shirt were undone, and Merlin had to look away from the triangle of skin.

Why was this even a thing? He’d seen Arthur naked. He didn’t even wear a shirt half of the time he was in his chambers. A tiny glimpse of collarbone shouldn’t even register on the scale. Yet he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the blood rushing in his ears.

“I’ve been well. Gwaine was a smug git when I got back from the first lesson.”

“Of course he was,” Arthur said, a smile flitting over his face as one hand toyed with his collar. “Morgana came into my office on Monday to gloat. I managed to avoid her until noon, though, so I’m counting it as a win.”

“You’d think they were trying to set us up on a date, and not just trying to get us to talk to each other again.”

Something shifted in Arthur’s expression. “Yeah.”

The cooking instructor stood up and stepped towards the class. “Today is Indian themed! Chicken Tikka Masala is my favourite curry, and it’s not too difficult to make.”

“You know,” Arthur whispered, as the teacher started outlining the process of assembling the marinade, “I bet he just made this menu with unhealthy foods in it so that he can get away with eating dessert without his spouse yelling at him for it.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin whispered back, “I won’t yell at you for eating dessert.”

Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the cooking instructor, so he missed whatever look Arthur gave him in response. But he didn’t miss the brief press of Arthur’s hip against his own.

“I like Indian, don’t get me wrong,” Arthur said, frowning down at the ginger press in his hands. When Merlin looked at the ginger, he was reminded of the mandrake root from under Uther’s bed, and had to suppress a shudder. “But why is everyone so obsessed with Tikka Masala? Why can’t we learn to make a good Vindaloo?”

Merlin measured off another hundred grams of yoghurt into the steel mixing bowl and sighed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What, really?” Arthur raised an eyebrow as he dumped the shredded remains of the ginger into their bowl. “You don’t know what curry is? Don’t tell me you’ve not eaten it before.”

Merlin frowned. He remembered Gwaine getting them takeaway curry for supper a few times, but he’d never heard him say the word Vindaloo. “I’ve had curry.”

“What kind?”

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Um. The brown kind?”

Arthur shook his head. “Gwaine should take you out for a proper Indian curry some time.”

He was no longer looking at him, but Merlin could see a smile hovering about Arthur’s lips as he started peeling the garlic cloves.

 _Or you could_ , Merlin thought, but didn’t say. “Yeah,” he said instead. “He should.”


	9. The Confession

**_Merlin Emrys:_** _hi._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _are you busy?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _there is something i need to tell you._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Hello._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _That certainly sounds ominous._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Are you trying to break up with me?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _what?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Because I wasn’t aware we were dating yet._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _i dont even know how to respond to that._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _My advice is to carry on as if nothing happened._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _You wanted to tell me something?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _there are just a few things you need to know about me._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Oh? Do you have some terrible secret?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _sort of._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Let me guess. Are you a spy for the Canadian government?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _what?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _No?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _All right, do you have a secret wife living in Indonesia?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _You’re a drug addict, and you’re leaving for rehab?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _idiot._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _You’re actually a werewolf, and it’s too close to the full moon for us to meet?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _youre so weird._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Not a werewolf, then._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Do you have terrible morning breath?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _(Don’t worry, I have that too.)_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _i do not have morning breath!!!_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Prove it._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _;)_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _oh gods arthur_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _youre flirting with me!_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Very astute of you._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Your observational skills leave me in awe._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Tell me, how long did it take you to realise Gwaine was propositioning you?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _too long._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _If it took more than thirty seconds, I’d agree._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _stop distracting me_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _i need to tell you something._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Tell me what?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _I’m serious, Merlin._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _I won’t tease you._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Oh, come on, are you really going to leave it like that?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _You have to tell me now!_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _stop that i am still typing!!_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Still?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _This is torture, Merlin._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _My curiosity is killing me._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Slowly._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Painfully._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Make it stop._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Please._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Don’t make me beg in caps-lock._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _okay_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _So last week I told you about the magic. That is not everything I need to tell you. I’m not just any Merlin - I am THE Merlin, or whatever. The original Merlin, who lives in Camelot. I transported myself from the past to save Prince Arthur. He died. I need to find a way to save him. I think you can help._  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _see i typed it out with capitals and commas and everything_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _oh gods_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _say something_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _arthur are you still there?_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _Stop_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _sorry_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _no it’s_  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _It’s fine._  
 ** _Arthur Penderton:_** _I’m going to call you, okay?_  
 ** _Merlin Emrys:_** _okay_

** _arthur.penderton@gmail.com has set their status to Away_ **

Merlin nearly dropped the phone when it finally rang, the trilling sound sharp and atonal. He swiped towards the green circle with a shaking finger, like Gwaine had showed him the few times he’d tried calling him.

“So,” Arthur’s voice bled through, tinny and strange, from the top part of the black box. “Maybe this is something we could discuss in person?”

Merlin bit his lip, glancing away from the screen. “Um, yes.”

There was a moment of silence on the other line, and the sound of Arthur clearing his throat. Merlin dug his bare toes deeper into the carpet as the fingers of his right hand traced figure eights over his thigh. 

Merlin cleared his own throat before speaking. “So you know how you said Gwaine should take me out for vindaloo?”

“I remember,” Arthur said.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Merlin blurted. “Dinner, I mean.”

Another cough, and the sound of fabric rustling. “So, curry?”

“If — that is to say, it might be… I might like that.”

“Okay.” Merlin heard the soft puff of breath, in and out and in again. “I’ll be over in half an hour.”

The strange click was almost less jarring than the sudden silence as Merlin realised he could no longer hear Arthur’s breathing.

Merlin rose from the sofa and padded over to Gwaine’s closed bedroom door. “Gwaine?”

“Give me five minutes,” Gwaine called from the inside, his voice slightly muffled. “I’ll crash at Percy’s tonight.” The door swung open and Gwaine frowned at Merlin. “If you have sex on my bed, wash the sheets.”

Merlin choked on his own spit. “We’re not having sex anywhere!”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Gwaine grinned as he pushed past Merlin towards the front door of the flat. “Oh, and don’t forget these.” He tossed a bottle of clear liquid and a small foil square at Merlin’s head. “Princess can tell you how to use them.”

Merlin threw the door open before Arthur had even finished raising his hand to knock. “Hi,” he said, breathless. Arthur just stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Hi?”

“So, do you… want to come in?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No, I was just planning on standing here for the rest of the night.”

“Well, in that case,” Merlin said, and made a motion to shut the door.

“Oi!” Arthur moved into the flat and mock-glared at Merlin. “Do you want dinner or not?” He nodded down at the brown box nestled in his arms, holding a variety of cylindrical red containers decorated with black and white loops and swirls.

Merlin grinned. “D’you think you got enough?” It looked like enough food to feed a dozen people.

Arthur scowled as he handed over the box to Merlin and started shrugging off his black overcoat. “I like variety.” His shirt was a deep Camelot red, the top three buttons undone, and Merlin quickly turned to put the food on the kitchen counter.

“Gwaine’s out,” he called over his shoulder. “For the rest of the night.” The sounds of sliding fabric, the creak of the closet door, and the soft click of Arthur’s shoes against the wood floor drifted across the sitting room.

“So.” Arthur cleared his throat from behind Merlin. “You’re the original Merlin?”

Merlin didn’t turn around; he just concentrated on pulling cartons out of the cardboard box to set on the counter. “What did you get?”

“Oh, very subtle topic change, there.” There was the sound of a sigh and shuffling feet as Arthur moved to loom over Merlin’s shoulder. “I picked up lamb vindaloo, aloo matar, dal makhani, saag paneer. Chicken tikka masala for comparison, since you’re a rubbish cook.”

“Am not,” Merlin snapped automatically, as he turned to look at Arthur.

He wasn’t looking at Merlin’s face, though. His eyes were angled down, studying the movements of Merlin’s fingers over the takeaway lids, sliding the flaps open one by one. The tips of his ears were red when his gaze finally flickered upward to Merlin’s face, snagging for a moment on the way up. By the time their eyes met, Arthur’s pupils were dark and wide in his face. The tip of his tongue flickered out to snag on his lower lip. “I also picked up gajar halwa. For dessert.”

Merlin turned back to the food, his hands suddenly clammy and his pulse spiking. “Can you grab the plates? They’re in the cabinet on—“

“The top left, I know.” Arthur walked stiffly into the kitchen and made a beeline for the silverware drawer, rifling through the forks as if this were his own flat.

“Did you live here?”

“What? No.” Arthur set two stacked plates and a spoon on the counter next to Merlin with a faint clink, before carrying forks, spoons, and tea towels out to the sitting room table. He slumped down on the sofa, propping his feet to the right of the cutlery. “I used to come over more often. Watch footie, order pizza. That sort of thing.”

Merlin carefully dished a few spoonfuls from each container onto both plates. “Used to?” 

Arthur was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Gwaine and I… we’re friends, yeah?”

“Yes?”

“We used to be… more than that.”

Merlin set down the spoon. “All right.”

“It was… difficult. For me. For a while.”

Merlin tried glancing over, but Arthur’s head was turned away, towards the portrait on the wall of the girl mid-jump.

Deciding Arthur wasn’t going to say anything more, Merlin turned back to the food. The green goop looked somewhat unappetising, but it smelled fantastic. He gathered up both plates and brought them over to where Arthur was still sitting, staring at the wall and playing absently with the hem of his tunic.

He settled into the sofa cushions opposite Arthur and brought his plate up to rest on the leaning incline of his chest before trying a bite of the red curry, speckled with onions and chunks of dark meat.

“Merlin…” It sounded almost like a sigh, and when Merlin lifted his head, fork tines still between his lips, Arthur was staring at his mouth. 

“What?”

Arthur startled and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly before turning back to look Merlin in the eye. “Are we going to talk about this? Or are you going to ask me invasive questions about my past relationships and… did you just mix the vindaloo and the saag?” His nose wrinkled in disgust as he stared down at Merlin’s plate as the green and red piles bled into each other.

This was so much easier to say in writing. Then Arthur wouldn’t be staring at him, one eyebrow raised. Though at least the expression had more to do with Merlin’s apparently poor taste in curry rather than his inability to tell Arthur something important.

This Arthur couldn’t execute him for having magic. This Arthur couldn’t sack him (well, more than he had already). This Arthur couldn’t break his heart.

Right?

“I’m from Camelot.”

Arthur blinked and his head jerked back as he tore his gaze away from Merlin’s dinner plate. “Yeah?”

Merlin swallowed, licking the last traces of sauce from his lips. “I used magic to bring myself here. To London.”

“That explains your incompetence as a personal assistant.”

Merlin glared. “Data entry is horrid. I don’t know why you would subject me to such torture.”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to do it myself.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Merlin shook his head to clear it. He was going to tell Arthur everything; he couldn’t afford to get distracted by flirti—

Merlin resolved not to finish that train of thought.

“Look,” Merlin said, “the whole reason I’m here, you know, in London, and not Camelot, is because Arthur died.”

“King Arthur?”

“He’s not king yet.”

“Fine, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.” Arthur turned in his seat, slouching back against the cushions.

“What? Of course it does.” Merlin set his plate down and leant closer. “You’re Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes even as his hands balled up into fists, his muscles stiffening with tension. “That’s my name, yes.”

“No, you don’t get it, do you? You’re Arthur. You’re him. I think you must be reborn, or something, but—“

“I’m King Arthur?”

“Well, obviously you’re not king, but…”

“I’m King Arthur.”

“Yes! Or, you were. In a previous lifetime.”

“So, I… that is, King Arthur died, and you came here, to the future?”

“To get your help!”

“Right.”

They were silent as Arthur finally picked up his plate and twirled his fork through the puddles of brown, red, and green.

Merlin swallowed his bite of curry and spoke. “So can you?”

Arthur looked up, the bridge of his nose crinkling in confusion. “Can I what?”

“Help me.”

“Help you… save King Arthur?”

“He’s not king yet,” Merlin muttered. “But yes. Help me figure out how to prevent his death.”

Arthur set down his fork. “Do you have a plan?”

Merlin grinned. Now he was getting somewhere. “Of course!”

Arthur’s raised eyebrow seemed to ask, _Well?_

“Um, well. My plan pretty much consisted of, find you, befriend you, and figure out how to save my Arthur.”

Arthur snorted. “Brilliant plan.”

“Like you could come up with better.”

“Actually,” Arthur said, “I think I can. How did you say he died?”

“He was poisoned, I think.”

Arthur cracked his knuckles. “Has Gwaine introduced you to the glories of the internet yet?”

Merlin shook his head. “He told me not to touch the internet, because he didn’t want his computer to contract a disease.”

“Of course he did,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “Do you know the password to his laptop?”

“His laptop? Do you mean the large folding mobile with letters inset into the bottom half?” Merlin set his plate down on the table and started walking towards Gwaine’s office. “Yeah, the password is Gwaine Is Well Fit.”

Merlin could hear Arthur’s snort behind him.

Several hours later, Merlin was roused by a firm hand shaking his shoulder.

“Come on. Up you get.”

“Arthur?” Merlin blinked sleepily up at him. He was looking down at Merlin with such an uncharacteristic tenderness. No — not uncharacteristic. It was not the first time he had seen such fondness on Arthur’s face, but it was perhaps the first time that it had been unmasked, the emotion laid bare for Merlin to witness. 

“You fell asleep,” Arthur said, the side of his mouth twisting up in a gentle smile. His eyes, though, were still sad.

Merlin blinked down at the smudged screen of his mobile, which was currently serving as his pillow, and his shoulders tensed under Arthur’s palm. “It’s not enough. I can’t find anything.”

Arthur squeezed, the warmth spreading through Merlin’s shoulder and into his chest. “You will.”

“Will I?”

Arthur’s hand fell from his shoulder, and Merlin felt the loss acutely as Arthur settled into the chair beside him. “He’s lucky. To have you.”

Merlin said nothing, simply biting his lip, the patch of skin on his shoulder still radiating heat as though Arthur had seared a brand there. They both sat there for a long moment, the only sounds the steady in and out of their breathing.

Arthur was quiet when he finally spoke. “I wish someone cared about me as much as you care for him.”

Merlin turned his head to look over. Arthur was staring down at his hands, resting on the table in front of them. “Arthur, I—“

“I’m not him. I know.”

“No, you are. You’re a prat, and arrogant and spoilt, like him.”

“Oh, _thanks_ —”

“And you’re kind, like him. You make me laugh. You’re still Arthur.”

Arthur finally turned to meet Merlin’s gaze. “But I’m not him. I’m not _your_ Arthur.”

“You could be.”

The heat that flashed in Arthur’s eyes was unmistakable. Merlin felt his lips part of their own accord, his breath quickening in his chest, as Arthur swivelled in his chair, leaning forward, his eyes flicking to his lips. 

Arthur stood abruptly, his chair skittering away as he thrust it backwards. “I should go.”

“Don’t.” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist. 

He only had a moment to think before Arthur was on top of him, Merlin’s own chair squeaking in protest from the sudden weight of him, straddling Merlin’s lap, his fingers raking through the hair at Merlin’s nape, left thumb pressing an indent at the juncture of Merlin’s jaw, and then Arthur’s lips were on his own.

Merlin leaned into the kiss, one hand still gripping Arthur’s wrist, the other blindly reaching out, curling into the soft cotton of Arthur’s shirt, the muscles of his chest hard and warm underneath. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Arthur whispered against Merlin’s mouth. His lips were soft and slightly chapped.

In lieu of answering, Merlin simply leant forward, seeking out those lips once more.

Merlin had often thought of what it would be like to kiss Arthur; he had always pictured their first kisses to be chaste, simple, slow. A fleeting brush of lips, perhaps, or a slow exploration of each other’s skin, gentle nips at the edge of Arthur’s mouth, his jaw, the ridge of his Adam’s apple.

This was nothing like his imaginings. Merlin let out a whimper when Arthur sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down roughly. Merlin felt like he was burning from the inside out, his hands flying over Arthur’s skin, smoothing down the lines of his biceps and rubbing a thumb down the stubble on his jaw. He opened his mouth to the onslaught and Arthur’s tongue slipped inside, thrusting against his own, rubbing up against the top of his hard palate, flicking against the backs of his front teeth. The tongue withdrew and Arthur bit down on his lower lip, even harder than before, and Merlin could taste the metallic tang of blood fill his mouth. Merlin whimpered as he felt Arthur pull back, cold air rushing in between them.

“Does your Arthur kiss you like this? Does he mark you with his bites? Sink his fingers into your hips and leave purple marks on your flesh? Does he drive into you so hard that you can’t walk for days afterwards?”

“No,” Merlin managed to gasp.

“Is that what you want, Merlin? Do you want to be marked, to be claimed?” Arthur was shaking now, his fingers clumsily fumbling with the buttons of Merlin’s shirt and scratching marks into his exposed chest.

“Please.” The word came out in a whine, breathy, desperate. Arthur licked at his earlobe, and Merlin arched into the contact.

“What was that?”

“ _Please_ ,” Merlin said.

“Tell me,” Arthur whispered, voice pitched low, the words fluttering warm and moist against Merlin’s ear.

“Mark me.”

Arthur bit down at the flesh just below his ear, and Merlin let out a shaky groan. “What else?”

“Claim me.”

“Tell me _exactly_.”

“Touch me.”

“Touch you where, Merlin?”

“You know _exactly_ where, you pra—“ he choked out, and then Arthur’s hands were stroking over the fabric of his jeans, heat and pressure bleeding through but not enough, not nearly enough. “Yes,” he gasped, spreading his legs to give Arthur better access.

That was when the chair broke.

Merlin found himself trapped between the ruins of the chair, the plastic digging into his back, and Arthur, who was sprawled all over him, one hand trapped between them (and now squashing against Merlin’s crotch in a less-than-pleasant fashion) and the other braced against the carpeted floor. His expression wasn’t one of shock or surprise, but rather indignation, as though the chair had personally insulted him by breaking mid-grope. Merlin took one look at Arthur’s furrowed brow and pinched mouth and burst out laughing.

“Wha— Merlin!” Arthur shoved himself off of Merlin, rolling to the side. “It’s not funny!”

Merlin snorted, gasping out, “Your face! Arthur, your _face_ ,” in between laughs. 

“There is nothing wrong with my— stop laughing, you idiot!”

Merlin rolled off the broken heap of plastic and metal that had once been his chair, still shaking with laughter. “Someone must hate me,” he remarked. His laughter was bordering on hysterical now.

“What?” Arthur was looking less affronted and more confused, now, his mouth softening.

“I’m never getting laid at this rate,” Merlin said. If he wasn’t careful his laughter would turn into sobs. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, forcing his shaky breaths to even out as the adrenaline flooded his system. “Well, at least I got further with you than I’ve ever done with my Arthur.”

“Right,” Arthur said, his voice strangely flat, and when Merlin opened his eyes, he saw that Arthur was standing, looking away from Merlin. “I’ll be off, then.”

“What?” Merlin struggled to his feet, but Arthur was already striding off towards the door. “Arthur, wait—“

The door slammed shut, and Merlin stood there, not really sure what had just happened.

He thought back to the last thing he’d said before Arthur had left. _My Arthur_.

Oh. “Shite.”

The click of the door locking itself after Arthur left finally snapped Merlin out of his increasingly horrified chain of thought.

“Bugger.” He jolted to his feet, only remembering his shoes at the last moment. He slipped his feet into the white trainers Gwaine had bought him, not bothering to fasten the laces, and nearly brained himself on the edge of the kitchen counter whilst getting to his feet. He fumbled with the door handle and flung the door open, darted down the corridor, yanked open the wooden door to the stairwell— and tripped over the man sat at the top of the steps.

Two things saved him from falling down the rest of the stairs and breaking his neck: the first was the pair of strong arms gripping at his shirt and wrapped around his legs; the second was time stopping.

 _Stupid magic_ , Merlin thought. With his luck, it would blink out any second and he’d just continue his descent down the staircase. He twisted in Arthur’s grip so that he was facing towards the top of the stairs instead of plunging to his death, and grabbed the banister with both hands.

“Mph!” Arthur blinked up at him as he was tugged down by Merlin’s momentum, but instead of falling, he ended up smashing his face into Merlin’s stomach. “Bloody hell, Merlin!”

“Sorry!” Merlin realised too late that they were now tipping the other direction, and brought his hands up to cradle the back of Arthur’s skull before he tipped backwards and sprawled against the concrete.

Arthur blinked up at him. “When I said I was leaving, I didn’t expect you to come outside and attack me.”

“I wasn’t attacking— no, wait, you’re trying to distract me. Stop that.” Merlin suddenly registered the position of his limbs, sprawled as he was on top of Arthur, their legs tangled together, and both hands trapped between Arthur’s head and the floor. He reared back, his whole face hot, and stammered, “Oh, gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Arthur scooted back towards the door, his legs sprawled out in front of him, and propped himself up onto his elbows. “Did I forget something?”

“No.” Merlin bit his lip. He wasn’t really sure what he had wanted to say. Apologise for being an idiot? “I wanted to apologise for being an idiot.”

Arthur’s quirked into a smirk, but his eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“I like you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes this time. “You’re missing the point, Merlin.”

“No.” Merlin settled down on the landing next to Arthur, tucking his knees under his chin and wrapping his arms around his shins. “I’m sorry I compared you to him.”

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and he turned his head away. “It’s my fault.”

Merlin wasn’t really sure how to respond, so he stayed silent as Arthur’s thumb traced a fracture in the floor beneath them.

Finally, Arthur let out a sigh. “I was serious. When I said I should go.”

“I don’t—“

“I know better,” Arthur interrupted, “than to fall in love with you.”

“So do I.”

Arthur frowned at Merlin’s ankles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Arthur stood abruptly. “You _are_ an idiot.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Arthur finally turned to look at Merlin, but there was something odd about his expression. Instead of anger, or annoyance, there was something almost wistful in the twist of his mouth, the upturn of his brow. “Can’t you just leave it alone?”

Merlin got to his feet. His muscles felt shaky and weak, as though he could collapse at any moment. “I’ve never been good at leaving well enough alone.”

Arthur stared at him as the creeping feeling in Merlin’s stomach spread to his limbs, his whole body feeling as if it were about to shake apart from tension.

“Fuck it,” Arthur said, and his hands wrapped around Merlin’s shoulders and his lips collided with Merlin’s.

Before Merlin could register anything more complicated than _He’s kissing me,_ and _Ow, the back of my head just hit the wall,_ and _I should kiss him back_ , Arthur pulled away and clattered down the steps.

“What the hell, Arthur?” Merlin shouted down the stairwell, leaning over the handrail to see Arthur’s blond head disappearing from view.


	10. Kay

When Merlin got back to the flat, he tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

The door was locked. Of course it was. Merlin had forgotten his phone in the flat.

“ _Onlúcan,_ ” Merlin tried, and a clicking noise sounded. When he reached for the door handle to see if he had successfully unlocked the door, however, it clicked again.

“Your attempt to tamper with the locking mechanism has been noted. A message has been sent to the owner.” 

“Perfect,” Merlin muttered.

“Welcome, guest!” the door added. The tiny square embedded in the door’s surface displayed the same message in white text on a black background. “The owner of the flat is currently away,” the door said, and read. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“What? I’m not a guest, I live here.”

“I’m sorry,” the door replied, in a falsely bright tone. “I didn’t understand. Can you repeat that command? Say _yes_ if you’d like to leave a message.”

“Really?” Merlin asked, of no one in particular. “Yes, fine.”

“After the beep, please leave your message.” The square lit up with a green circle with a lopsided vee inside. “Once you are done recording, press the green checkmark on the screen below, turn away from the camera, or simply maintain a silence of at least five seconds.” The door beeped.

He resisted the urge to call the door names. It wouldn’t do to hurt the talking door’s feelings. 

“Your stupid door locked me out of the flat. I left my phone inside.” He sighed. “Also, Arthur _ran away_ , so. While you’re off having a good time with Percy…” Wait. “Oh, gross! You’re getting off with Percy while I’m locked outside the flat!” Still grumbling to himself, he tapped at the green symbol.

“Thank you! To re-record your message, please tap the screen, or say ‘re-record.’” Merlin glared. “Your message will be forwarded on to the owner shortly,” the door said. “Good bye.”

“Good riddance!”

Since there was nothing for him to do but wait, Merlin sat. The carpeting was more comfortable than stone or dirt, as far as sitting went, but Merlin hadn’t worn any socks, and his feet were starting to get itchy. It was colder out in the hall than in the flat, and Merlin ran his hands up and down his arms to ward off the chill. 

What felt like eons later, there had still been no sign that Gwaine had received his message. Merlin wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there; his arse was starting to go numb.

“Door,” he said. “I’d like to leave another message.”

“Welcome, guest!” said the door. “The owner of the flat is currently away, would you like to leave a message?”

Merlin scowled. “ _Yes_.”

“After the beep, please leave your message. Once you are done recording—“

“I don’t have _time_ for this!” 

Beep.

“Pick up your damn phone, Gwaine, and let me _in_!” He jabbed at the green circle perhaps a bit harder than was healthy (for his finger, anyway, which throbbed unpleasantly) and continued scowling at the door.

“Thank you! To re-record your message—“

“Oh, that’s _it_!” Merlin yelled, and kicked the door.

“Your attempt to tamper with the locking mechanism has been noted. A message has been sent to the owner.” 

“I didn’t tamper with anything!” Merlin yelled.

Great. Now he was certifiably insane. He was yelling at a bloody door. He rubbed his temple with two fingers and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his heartbeat to calm.

It didn’t sound like Gwaine was answering his messages, and his magic wouldn’t work to unlock the door. If the flat wouldn’t let him in, he’d just have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Merlin headed for the stairwell, plotting his course as he went.

Summoning a taxi had been the easy part. Merlin had simply stood at the street corner where he had gone with Gwaine and Arthur when the three of them had first met, and stuck his arm out like he’d seen Gwaine do whenever the black boxes had come close. When he’d told the man to take him to “Cafe Avalon,” he’d grunted assent, and before Merlin had known it they were pulling to a stop just down the block from Arthur’s office building, the striped awning across the street that marked Gwaine’s shop quivering in the wind.

“That’ll be eleven pounds,” the driver responded cheerfully as they pulled to a stop.

Merlin patted his pockets absently for Gwaine’s credit card before he remembered. “Oh, bloody hell. I got locked out of my flat, and it looks like I left my wallet at home.”

The taxi driver rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, biting at his lip. “I could give you my mobile number, maybe? I’m good for it, I swear, I just don’t have any way to pay you right now.”

“Name and number,” the man practically growled at him.

“George Fairbanks,” Merlin said, which was the name on Gwaine’s credit card. He still hadn’t gotten Gwaine to explain that one. He rattled off Gwaine’s mobile number and the man tapped it into a small screen in the front.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the man said, “The charge’s gone through,” but he sounded less than pleased, so Merlin got out of the cab quickly. He could hear the driver muttering as he pulled away from the kerb.

Merlin trudged along the path he’d taken with Kay the first time he’d ever been to Gwaine’s cafe. The leaves were changing colours now, gold and red, and everything felt less alien than the first time he’d walked along. It almost felt comforting by now, to see the regularly planted trees next to the pavement, to hear the rumble of traffic rolling past.

When he got to the camp, there were a few people curled up in sleeping bags — Tasha, the blue-haired girl, was one — and clustered around the fire were a few more people. Two were young men he didn’t recognise, and the third was Kay, roasting a hot dog on a stick.

“Hey,” Merlin said, sucking in a great lungful of the cool autumn air.

Kay glanced over but didn’t lower his stick. “You by yourself? Where’s Gwaine?”

Merlin shook his head as he dropped onto an unoccupied pile of blankets near the fire. “He’s at Percy’s. I got locked out of the flat.”

Kay sighed. “Already?”

Merlin squinted. “What do you mean, already?”

“Nothing. Want a hot dog?”

“No, I—“

“Your loss.”

Kay walked out of sight, already chewing on the end of his hot dog, without sparing a second glance to look back at Merlin.

Merlin just kicked off his shoes and snuggled further into the blankets. At least he was warm.

Merlin was roused by a finger poking him in the collarbone. “It’s for you,” Kay said, and thrust a mobile at him.

“Hey mate,” Gwaine’s voice echoed in his ear, sounding like it had been pounded flat and smushed back into proper shape again. There was something just a bit off about it. “Kay told me you spent the night with him. I can’t believe you forgot your phone.” He snickered. 

“Your door is _stupid_ ,” Merlin replied, rubbing his tongue up against the roof of his mouth to rub the awful taste away.

“When I woke up I had some entertaining voicemails. Oh, and, by the way? Thanks for interrupting my evening. Four times.”

“Not like you bothered to actually respond.”

“I was busy!”

Merlin made a gagging sound. “Spare me the details.”

Gwaine snorted, and there was the sound of metal scraping against something. Merlin had no idea what would produce that kind of sound. A knife? 

“What are you doing?” he asked, blinking against the morning sunlight. He snuggled deeper into his blanket cocoon. 

“Breakfast,” Gwaine said. “I’m off to work in a bit. I’ll see you tonight?”

“I guess,” Merlin said.

“I can hear you pouting,” Gwaine said with a laugh. “Come over to the cafe if you get bored.” A click sounded, and the phone was silent, so Merlin let it drop onto the pillow.

Pillow? Merlin hadn’t remembered any pillows from last night. He dismissed the thought and let his eyes drift shut.

The sun was higher in the sky when a rough shake woke him for the second time that morning. “Where’d you put it?”

“Put what?” Merlin asked, trying and failing to hold in his yawn.

“My phone.” Kay was staring at the space above Merlin’s head, where his wrists overlapped as he stretched.

“I just set it down.” Merlin rooted around in the blankets until he located the black square. It was similar to his and Gwaine’s, but not exactly the same — the edges were rounder and there was a dark blue skin on one side, bumpy and slightly spongy to the touch. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Kay grabbed his phone and raised himself to his feet, making as if to leave.

Something wasn’t adding up. There had always been something familiar about Kay, tugging at Merlin, a niggling itch just under his skin.

“Why did you say you were my uncle?” Merlin blurted, propping himself up to a sitting position.

Kay stopped mid-stride and turned back to face Merlin, looking down at the mess of blankets. He paused for a long moment. “You needed a place to stay. Gwaine trusts me.”

Merlin shook his head. “You wouldn’t need to say you were related to me. Gwaine’s a sucker for a pretty face.”

Kay just shrugged and turned back to the metal can that normally housed the fire, now unlit. 

Merlin huffed a sigh and threw off his blankets. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, you’re not,” Kay snapped. 

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, it’s clearly not nothing, I just—“

“Drop it. All right? Just drop it.” His back was turned to Merlin, so he couldn’t see his face, but suddenly Merlin could picture it. His voice had the same dark quality Merlin himself had used after his father’s death.

Kay moved out of Merlin’s line of sight, so Merlin let his eyes fall shut and his chin rest on his knees. They were both silent for a while, the hiss of electronics and the rumble of traffic filling the uneasy space between them.

“Hot dog?” Merlin straightened and opened his eyes to see Kay waving a metal stick, which was piercing a hot dog, in Merlin’s direction. “I’m going to eat it if you won’t.”

Merlin waited until Kay was looking straight at him, his irises visible, before saying, “Leoht.” The ball of light flickered into being in his palm, then was snuffed. Kay’s eyes shone gold in the instant that it was extinguished.

“You!” Merlin said, scrambling to his feet, and Kay flinched as the golden light in his eyes faded back to blue. “You’re the one who’s been messing with my magic!”

“It’s not just _your_ magic!” Kay snapped.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Merlin asked.

“Nothing.” Kay glanced around the camp, but the two of them were alone at the moment. Merlin watched as the tension visibly bled out of his shoulders. 

“You have magic.”

“And you should stop using it willy nilly whenever it catches your fancy!” Kay snapped. “Magic is not a _toy_ , and using it’s just as likely to get you killed here as in Camelot.”

“How did you know I’m from Camelot? Did you kill Arthur?” Merlin blurted. “Is that why you’re here, why you found me? Are you trying to keep me from going back to save him?”

“Oh my God,” Kay said, eyes widening. “I’d almost forgotten that you were _an idiot_.”

“Oi!” Merlin frowned. “Wait, what do you mean, were?”

Kay shook his head and started nibbling on the skewered hot dog.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked.

“You’re asking the wrong question.” 

“What’s the right question, then?”

“You tell me.” Kay took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully, as he looked over at Merlin.

“I don’t have time for this!” Merlin shouted.

“No, of course not,” Kay said, his voice quiet. “You don’t have the time for any of this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why are you still here? Still in London? It’s been weeks.”

Merlin drew further into himself, tucking his arms across his chest. “I can’t go back yet.”

“Why not?” Kay raised an eyebrow, delicately plucking the last bit of hot dog from the skewer and popping it in his mouth. After a long moment of silence, he turned away and started walking towards the alley entrance.

“Because,” Merlin blurted, and Kay stopped mid-stride, turning back to look at Merlin. “I… don’t know how to save him.”

Kay’s voice was quiet, when he finally spoke. “That’s just because you don’t want to save him.”

“That’s ridiculous! Of course I want to save him!”

“No, you don’t.”

“I—“

“You want to stay here,” Kay said, “with him, and live out all your little fantasies. Bake cakes in Gwaine’s little shop and go on dates and not have to worry about saving the world.”

Suddenly, Merlin could picture it. Merlin could stay here, with this Arthur. Maybe they would date, and get to know one another. Merlin could finish the cooking classes, and get a job at Gwaine’s cafe, baking scones and muffins and serving coffee to customers. 

In the morning, Merlin would wake up next to Arthur, who would whine about being roused before dawn; Merlin would go into the kitchen and bake muffins from the ingredients in Arthur’s pantry. They would drive to work together, and Arthur would come to the cafe for lunch, ranting about Morgana and calling Merlin an idiot. Gwaine would tease them when they left together at half seven, and Arthur would throw a muffin at his head and Merlin would burst out laughing. They would drive home and order a takeaway, and sit on the sofa watching Game of Thrones and Arthur would ask Merlin whether dragons really existed.

“So what if I do?” 

Even as he said it, he knew it didn’t matter. 

Kay just shook his head. “You don’t belong here.”

“I _could_.” 

“Could you?”

Merlin  was silent, watching as Kay turned back to the fire and pierced a new hot dog with the metal skewer.

“This one’s for you,” Kay noted.

“And here I was thinking you spent all day cooking and eating hot dogs.”

Kay rolled his eyes.

They were silent for a few more moments as Kay set the hot dog, its skin a shiny dark brown with patches of black char, on the rim of the can, snuffing out the fire with a hand wave and a flash of golden irises.

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asked, finally.

Kay sighed noisily. “You still don’t get it, do you?” 

Merlin frowned. What was he missing? There was something nagging at the edge of his consciousness; if he could just pin it down…

“Look, I’m going to make this simple,” Kay said. “Do you want to go back to Camelot, or not?”

Merlin blinked. Kay was crossing his arms across his chest, mirroring the position that Merlin had taken just minutes before. His eyebrow was furrowed and he glared back at Merlin with a determined set to his mouth. The stance, the expression, felt utterly natural; but more than that, those eyes, in that particular shade of blue, were something Merlin had seen many times in a mirror.

“Oh!” Merlin shouted, barely conscious of fllailing his arms about frantically. “You’re me! You — wait, why are you so old?”

Kay had buried his head in his hands in the midst of Merlin’s flailing, and Merlin was sure that, if he could see the tips of Kay’s ears underneath that fuzzy hat, they would be tinted red. He was muttering, “I _can’t_ have been this oblivious. Please tell me I wasn’t this stupid.”

“Kay!” Merlin said, latching his fingers around Kay’s wrists to pull them away from his face. “You were absolutely this stupid.”

Kay laughed. “I’m sorry I was so cross earlier. You don’t know how hard it’s been pretending I’m… not you.”

Merlin smiled back. “It wouldn’t do me any good if I were to stay angry.” 

“Well, they say the first step in forgiveness is learning to forgive yourself.”

Merlin groaned. “How long have you been waiting to say that? I bet you’ve got loads of terrible jokes stored up, haven’t you?”

“Takes one to know one!” Kay said cheerfully, and picked up the hot dog by the skewer. “Alternatively, that’s the pot, calling the kettle black.” He handed the skewer to Merlin. “Hold this.”

“Why hot dogs?” Merlin asked. They were walking along the Thames, the sun beating down over their heads.

Kay shrugged. “They’re easy enough to conjure and cook. For some reason, no one questions where the hot dogs come from. It’s not as if I have a refrigerator,” he scoffed.

“Why not, I don’t know, a bowl of soup, or something?”

Kay lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think a bowl of soup would heat well over a fire in a rubbish bin?”

Merlin looked down at his half-eaten hot dog. “Point taken.”

They had, for the most part, ignored the varying elephants in the room: the ultimate cause of Arthur’s death in Camelot; why Kay had decided to live among the homeless instead of magicking himself young and courting the current Arthur; how Kay had consistently, frustratingly, sabotaged every attempt Merlin made to use magic. Instead, they had mostly talked about Gwaine’s cafe, to Merlin’s surprise. Kay had helped Gwaine secure the initial loan, and regularly dropped by to chat and try the new pastry flavours.

Kay’s shoulders were stiff and Merlin could see a faint limp in his left leg. He remembered all the aches and pains from his stint as Dragoon the Great, and winced. “Why don’t you magic yourself young again?”

Kay froze mid-step.

“Sorry, have you not found a way to go back?” It had taken him a special potion to regain his youth, and that had only been because it was reversing the aging spell he’d cast in the first place. He supposed once you grew old naturally, you were just… old.

The side of Kay’s mouth twitched in a smile. “No, it’s… I have a better handle on my magic these days.” He sighed and resumed his brisk pace, and Merlin hurried to catch up. “That’s not the problem. I just… I like being old.”

Merlin frowned. “You like it? Why?”

Kay avoided Merlin’s gaze. “People don’t notice an old homeless man. Like this, I’m practically invisible.” He gestured to a group of female tourists sneaking unsubtle glances at the two of them. “You, on the other hand, attract attention.”

“What?” Merlin looked down at himself. He was still wearing the t-shirt and jeans from yesterday, and his regular trainers (Kay had thoughtfully provided a spare pair of socks so Merlin’s feet wouldn’t itch). “Why? I’m not obvious, am I?”

Kay laughed. “They think you’re fit.”

Merlin felt the tips of his ears go hot. “Do not!”

“Do so.” He grinned. “Once you stop mooning over Arthur, you’ll see just how many people fancy you.”

Merlin blinked. “I don’t want to stop mooning over Arthur.”

They were both silent for a moment. 

“I know,” Kay said. “So have you made up your mind, yet?”

Merlin frowned. “About mooning over Arthur? I suppose I’ll just keep mooning.”

Kay rolled his eyes and cuffed Merlin upside the head. “On whether you’re going back to Camelot, idiot.”

“You can’t call me an idiot! I’m you!”

“I’m allowed to call myself an idiot,” Kay retorted. “Stop dodging the question.”

When he saw Merlin wasn’t going to answer anytime soon, Kay leant back against the metal railing separating them from the river, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He tapped the box against his palm, grabbing a single cigarette from the pack.

“Nasty habit, I know,” he said, “but it’s not as if I can die of lung cancer.” He pulled a lighter from his other pocket and lit up the cigarette.

Merlin turned towards the river as Kay smoked, leaning against the metal railing and looking down at the water. He loved so many things about this place. But he missed home, too, like a persistent toothache. “I’m ready, I think.”

Kay took a long drag on his cigarette. With his other hand, he pulled a stiff piece of parchment from his coat pocket, folded with neat creases and yellowed with age. “I had to rewrite it a few times over the years, but I kept it with me.” He handed it to Merlin.

Merlin stared down at the paper as he unfolded it carefully. It was covered in black ink, curling letters written in Old English.

“This is… the spell I used to come here?”

Kay just nodded, looking out at the river with a soft smile on his face.

“So I just, read this out, and I go home?”

Kay blinked. “No. It’s not… It doesn’t work on the caster.” He twisted to face Merlin. “I thought you knew that.”

“It doesn’t? But, I’ve used it twice, so far. Both times, it transported me.”

Kay shook his head. He took one finger and tapped it against the black swirls. “It transports a single target. This is important. Whatever magic you thought you used to bring yourself here, to this time… you have to do once you get back.”

Merlin frowned. The first time he had cast it, he had been in the dungeons, and he couldn’t remember successfully casting the spell. He remembered saying it, over and over, and then falling into an exhausted slumber, but… “So I have to go back and cast this? Why not just… let it be? Go back, don’t cast any magic. None of my other selves could have cast it without my help, right?”

Kay sighed, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it with his heel. “Do you really want things to go differently?”

“What do you mean?”

Kay waved a hand vaguely towards the buildings across the street. “If you had never travelled, you would never have seen this. Seen London. Seen that life doesn’t end with Arthur’s death.”

Merlin swallowed.

“Look,” Kay added, “Arthur’s not meant to die yet. It’s not the Legend of _King_ Arthur for nothing.” He tilted his head to view Merlin from narrowed eyes. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t die, someday.”

“And I have to keep on living?”

Kay pursed his lips. “You don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Fine,” said Merlin. “So, I go back, I make sure I get sent to the future after I witness Arthur’s death, and I make sure I get from the prison cell to Arthur’s chambers to see his death in the first place.” Merlin blinked. “That means… you’re the one to send me back, aren’t you?”

Kay’s face dimpled as he smiled, blinding and bright, and Merlin felt a prickle at the back of his neck. _So he can still smile_ , he thought. _I almost thought he’d forgotten how._ He was so thrown by the thought that he barely heard Kay chanting the beginnings of a complicated spell.

“ _Edhwierft_ ,” Kay said, his eyes flashing gold. Merlin felt a familiar pull in his stomach, and the sky faded into blackness.


	11. Back to Camelot

Merlin kept his eyes shut for a moment, letting the queasy feeling dissipate. He would have kept them shut for longer, but then a foot caught on his torso, and a surprised squawk emanated from above him.

“Merlin?” Gaius blinked down at him, clutching the edge of his worktable for support. “I — how long have you been lying on the floor?” He sniffed, his nostrils flaring. “What’s that smell?”

Merlin looked down. The half-eaten hot dog was resting on his stomach, warming the skin underneath and leaving a greasy smear on his tunic. “It’s a hot dog.” He took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“What?” Gaius was looking at him as though he had gone mad. Well, perhaps he had. He was still lying on the floor, his back pressed against the stone, a hot dog in one hand.

Merlin glanced down at his outfit, but for whatever reason, he was back in his typical Camelot clothing, boots and all, instead of the shirt and jeans he had been wearing in London. His red neckerchief smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and hot dogs.

“Merlin, whatever is the matter?” Gaius reached down and tugged on Merlin’s arm. Merlin pushed himself up, his back protesting. He managed to stumble to his feet, cramming the last bit of hot dog in his mouth. He really should savour it — it was the last hot dog he would get to taste in who knows how long — but for some reason, he was starving. Besides, the cook’s roast chicken was better than Kay’s charred attempt at a meal. You’d think he’d have taken some cooking classes… maybe they weren’t any fun without Arthur there?

Gaius had levelled the eyebrow of doom at him. “Merlin?” 

“Sorry, but it’s rather a long story, and I don’t have time to explain. That is to say, I do, but I… never mind.” He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts to jangle back into their proper positions.

He knew for a fact that he could save Arthur; Kay had said so. Arthur was destined to survive this. Everyone in the future had gone on about _King_ Arthur, not Prince Arthur, that one bloke who was poisoned before he became king.

Assuming it was poison.

Merlin turned to Gaius, who was now looking at Merlin with a confused head tilt. “Do you have any more of that potion that causes the appearance of death?”

Gaius’ forehead scrunched up and his eyes gained a faraway look. “Hmmm. Yes, I do have some on hand. Why?”

“We need to kill Arthur.” He looked away from Gaius’ raised eyebrows. “Not actually.”

Gaius crossed his arms over his chest, emitting the long-suffering sigh he reserved especially for Merlin’s special brand of reckless idiocy. Merlin had missed that sound.

“Look,” he said, as Gaius’ frown deepened, “Assume that someone is planning on poisoning Arthur. What’s the best way to thwart them?” Merlin wiped his left hand on his tunic absentmindedly and started pacing the tiny space of the workshop. “That was rhetorical, by the way. We need to get to him first, obviously. We need to make whoever is trying to poison Arthur think they’ve succeeded. When we announce that Arthur isn’t really dead, we can suss out the assassin.”

Gaius nodded. At least, Merlin thought he had. He was only watching peripherally as he stalked to and fro. “So, we poison him — ah, that is, we give Arthur the potion, bring him in here, convince everyone he’s dead, I get arrested—“

“For heaven’s sake, Merlin! Why would you allow yourself to be arrested?”

He stopped in his pacing and looked over at Gaius, who was looking increasingly disgruntled. Merlin cleared his throat. “I… Look, perhaps I should explain. I have to be arrested because I’ve already been. Arrested. By Leon. But not yet. After Arthur dies.”

Silence echoed throughout the room. Merlin could have sworn he heard crickets. Wait, did Camelot even have crickets?

“We don’t have time for this. Give me the potion, and I’ll go explain to Arthur.”

Gaius blinked a few times before turning to his shelf of potions, examining a few, and then turning back to Merlin with a translucent green bottle. He pressed it into Merlin’s palm, curving his fingers around Merlin’s own, before wordlessly turning and opening up a large tome on the table.

Merlin stood stock still for a few moments, looking down at the bottle in his hands. “And the antidote?”

“I’ll have it ready by the time you get back.”

Neither man looked at the other as Merlin pushed through the door and started making his way to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur lifted an eyebrow when he saw Merlin slip into his chambers. “Strange. I seem to remember telling you to muck out the stables. Did you get lost on your way there?”

Merlin didn’t bother to reply; he simply clapped a hand over Arthur’s mouth and moved to whisper in his ear. “Arthur. This is important. I believe someone means to make an attempt on your life this morning.”

Arthur froze, and as he cupped his chin gently, Arthur’s lips pressing into his palm, Merlin couldn’t help but remember how that mouth had felt against his skin. He let go as though burned, and Arthur turned to stare at him.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he hissed, “you had better have a damn good explanation for this.”

“Someone means to poison you,” Merlin said, his voice pitched low, “but not if we do it first.”

Arthur grimaced, turning his head away from Merlin for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

Merlin blinked. 

Arthur shoved him in the shoulder, glaring. “Well? Tell me what I need to do. Quickly.”

“Put this potion in your goblet, and drink the entire thing. It’s the same one we used when we needed to make your father cry.”

“Yet another example of your cunning plans.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Merlin said, affronted, and Arthur smirked. “Wait to drink this until I come back, though.” He slipped the potion into Arthur’s hand, and he flicked his eyes down to watch as Arthur tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Oh, and I may act a bit strangely. Just play along.”

Arthur nodded, once, then turned away. Merlin was halfway out the door when he heard Arthur’s voice, just barely above a whisper. “I trust you.”

Merlin turned towards Arthur. His back was to him, stiff and ramrod straight, muscles tense beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. The early morning sunlight streamed through his hair, tinging the edges gold.

“I know.”

Merlin closed the door quietly and slipped behind the tapestry at the end of the corridor.

It took surprisingly little time before he heard muffled voices inside Arthur’s chamber, and the slow thud of footsteps as a knight passed nearby.

“Gaius! Someone!” his own voice called.

“Merlin?” cried Leon’s voice. Merlin peeked out from behind the curtain just in time to see Leon throwing open the doors to Arthur’s chamber and rushing inside. After a few moments of talking, other-Merlin emerged, looking pale and frightened. His eyes darted back and forth and he started scuttling towards the tapestry where Merlin was hiding. He ducked back behind as his past self rushed closer, panting heavily. “I need more time,” he started muttering, and then half familiar words. It took Merlin a moment to realise he was reciting the spell.

Merlin whipped the parchment out of his tunic and started reading the words along with other-Merlin the second time. It was _working_. He could feel magic stretching between the two of them, tingling in his extremities. He chanced a peek outside the curtain, and other-Merlin muttered the last words of the spell with him, his eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face.

Merlin opened his eyes to see sun streaming through tree branches. He could feel moisture seeping into his tunic and breeches from the wet grass beneath him.

 _Stupid spell_ , Merlin thought. Other-Merlin must have succeeded in casting it at the same time as Merlin; both had been transported somewhere.

Merlin pushed himself to a sitting position as his vertigo faded. 

He was sitting at the shore of a great lake, with a hill rising in a small island in the middle. He’d been here before. 

There was a lone figure standing knee-deep in the water, staring out towards the horizon. A boat floated in the water a short distance away, growing smaller as it moved towards the island.

“Who was it?” he asked, and the figure turned towards him.

Merlin watched his other self stiffen, saying nothing as they stared at each other. Finally, his shoulders drooped, and he started slogging his way back towards shore.

“Freya?” Merlin asked, but he knew it was wrong, even as he said it; this man looked older than himself, if only by a few years. If his age was not apparent in the broad strength of his shoulders, then it was made obvious by the shadows in his expression.

“No,” future-Merlin said. His eyes pored over Merlin’s face, as if looking for something lost. “Suppose you want me to send you back?”

Merlin nodded. “Did you… need me to send you somewhere?”

Future-Merlin swallowed visibly, his adam’s apple bobbing slowly, and his eyes widened. “I…”

Merlin waited.

“Why do you think he sent you here?”

The question threw Merlin off-balance. He hadn’t really thought about how the spell worked, really. Kay had used it to send him back to before Arthur’s death, so he’d have a chance to do something about it. Merlin had sent his other self to the future, to find Kay and the future incarnations of Gwaine and Arthur. Because that’s how it had happened to him. He imagined he’d send back his jailed self to witness Arthur’s death. He’d need to go back to do that, though. So where had his other self sent him?

“What is here, anyway? It must be important.”

Future-Merlin smiled and turned away.

“I guess,” Merlin said, “he sent me here because he was thinking—“

“Because _you_ were thinking,” future-Merlin corrected.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I was thinking that I couldn’t lose him.”

Future-Merlin spread his hands in a placating gesture. “And here you are.”

“Is Arthur…”

“Here?” Future-Merlin dropped his hands. “No. Not anymore.”

“Is future-me always this cryptic?” Merlin asked, and a short, shocked laugh burst out of future-Merlin’s throat.

“I guess I just don’t really feel like explaining. Sorry.” He didn’t look particularly sorry.

“Well, can you send me back, then?” Merlin scuffed the toe of his boot on the patch of dirt where he was standing.

Future-Merlin shook his head. “I don’t remember the spell.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t keep it on your person at all times in case of emergency time travel?”

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Oh.” They stood there for a moment in silence, staring at each other. Future-Merlin looked exhausted. “Do you want to start a fire, maybe?”

Future-Merlin’s shoulders drooped in relief. “I’ll get you back before dawn.”

“All right.”

Merlin came to in Arthur’s chambers. His back was a bit stiff from staying up all night talking, but his future self had shown him some neat tricks with making animal shapes from the flames. They hadn’t spoken much, simply sat together on a fallen log, thighs pressed together, staring into the fire.

He pried his eyes open and looked around, but the room was empty. There was no sign of Arthur. The spoon of porridge still lay on the floor where Merlin had flung it, and the goblet had gone missing. 

He peered out the cracked door into the corridor, but it appeared to be empty. He took a shortcut to Gaius’ room and managed to get there without being spotted by Leon.

“It’s done,” Merlin said, a bit breathless, as he threw open the doors of Gaius’ chambers. The bed was still empty. “Has Leon been here yet?”

“Hmmm? No, I’ve not seen him.” Gaius smiled weakly at Merlin over his bubbling potion cauldron. “I’m almost finished with the antidote.”

“Good. Can you hide me in here until I get arrested?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow menacingly. His disapproving glare could beat out Arthur’s any day. “Perhaps you could explain that. Why, exactly, are you going to be arrested?”

“For Arthur’s murder. Uh. There’s something you should know—“ But then Merlin heard footsteps outside the door. “Bollocks. Hide me. Now.”

Merlin ducked into an empty storage barrel and Gaius carefully tucked the stiff cloth over his head. He had no time to pour in rice to complete the disguise. Merlin squirmed uncomfortably, flexing his muscles occasionally so they wouldn’t cramp. Even without the weight of the rice, the cloth over his head was suffocating.

The sound of the doors being thrown open stopped Merlin mid-thought. He could hear most everything, but not being able to see was maddening.

“Gaius.” Leon was speaking, his voice strained. “Merlin said to…” There was a pause, and some shuffling. They must have been laying Arthur on the spare bed. “He’s been poisoned.”

Gaius spoke, his voice sharp and businesslike. “Do we know with what?”

“Merlin thought,” Leon said, cutting himself off mid-sentence. “I brought the goblet.” There was a soft thud of metal on wood.

“I’ll have to perform tests. If it’s recoverable, I’ll know.” A pause, and a short cough, before Gaius spoke again. “Inform the king.”

“N-now? Before we know for sure?”

Gaius’ voice was softer now. “He deserves to know.” The door creaked on its hinges, and Gaius said, “Thank you. For bringing him here straight away.”

“Of course.”

“If there were anything to be done…”

The room was silent for so long, Merlin was sure Leon had left, but then his voice rang out, sudden and abrupt. “There isn’t, is there?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

Merlin held his breath until he heard the soft snick of the door pressing into its frame. There was no click of a deadbolt, and Merlin smiled at the thought of Gwaine’s flat in London. At least the doors in Camelot would never lock him out of his own chambers.

“Merlin,” Gaius hissed, his voice near enough to the slats of the barrel that the consonants were only slightly muffled. “When did you give Arthur the poison?”

“Um, just before Leon found him? He should have taken him here straight away. I don’t know if he stopped somewhere first…”

The warning bells started chiming before Gaius could properly gape.

“We don’t have the luxury of time to—“ The door squeaked, cutting Gaius off mid-sentence. The faint murmur of the guards outside filtered in, their voices indistinct. Merlin tried not to give himself away by breathing too loudly.

“Where is he?” Oh, shite. Uther.

“Your Majesty. Prince Arthur is—“

A gasp, and the rustle of clothing. “Was it sorcery?”

“We have determined it was most likely a poison, sire.”

“Whoever did this…” Uther’s voice sounded strangled. Merlin remembered his face when he’d seen Arthur die the first time, pale and drawn. He trailed off and Gaius’ footsteps retreated. Other than the occasional rustle, Uther was silent in his grief. 

The silence was broken by footsteps, and a soft thud as the door swung open against the back wall. “Is it true?” And, oh. _Gwen_.

Merlin had forgotten that Gwen had been here. He’d been so overwhelmed by his own grief that he’d completely missed everyone else’s.

“I must depart,” Uther said, sounding extremely uncomfortable.

“Of course, sire.”

Gwen was quiet until the door clicked shut. “Is he…?”

“I’m so sorry,” Gaius said.

“No.” Gwen’s voice cracked on that single syllable. And then, Merlin heard a shuddering breath, another, and then…

 _Don’t cry,_ he wanted to say. _It’ll be all right, you’ll see._

But he couldn’t say anything.

“I’m here,” Gaius said, over and over, and Merlin squirmed in his barrel, made uncomfortable by more than just the cramped space. 

What could have been mere moments later, but felt like an eternity, the door blasted open one more time, and this time, Merlin knew what was coming.

“Gaius?” his own voice called.

“Merlin.” Now that he was listening for it, Merlin could tell there was shock in Gaius’ tone. Come to think of it, he’d never gotten to the multiple Merlins part of his explanation. Or any part of his explanation, really. Damn.

“He’s gone, Merlin.” Gwen’s voice was soft, the strain in it still audible. 

“What?” Was his voice really that high-pitched? He’d always fancied himself as more manly-sounding than that. Circumstances being what they were, however…

Why, oh why, had he chosen to hide in the barrel? He could be in the stables. He could be in Arthur’s chambers. Anywhere but here, reliving this awful scene. Even knowing that it was all a ruse didn’t make it any better.

“Ar— Arthur. He’s…” 

“I don’t…”

“Prince Arthur is dead.”

Nausea churned inside Merlin’s stomach, just as it had the first time he’d heard those words.

“No. It’s not— I was just speaking with him this morning. He told me to polish his armour. He was fine then. He was _fine_. He’s not—“

“Merlin,” Gaius said.

Gwen’s voice was shaky. “Merlin, I’m sorry, I know what he meant to you…”

Gaius shushed her. “He meant something to all of us, dear. Perhaps… it would be best to leave the two of them.”

“Of… of course.” Fabric rustled, and footsteps shuffled unevenly. The door clicked again, and now there was just the sound of uneven breathing.

Oh, god, other-Merlin was _crying_.

Merlin was stuck in a room with his past self, who was sobbing over his best friend’s death, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t block out the sound, couldn’t scratch the infuriating itch that had sprung up on his elbow, couldn’t say anything, couldn’t _make it stop_ , and if he had to sit here listening to himself he was going to go _mad_ —

“Merlin,” Gaius’ voice cut through the tension, through Merlin’s thoughts, through other-Merlin’s hysterical sobs. “Merlin. Merlin, look at me.”

Silence.

“Merlin, you have to leave.”

“I… what?”

Merlin never wanted to hear his own voice again. How did Kay manage it without going mad? Merlin forced himself to ignore the rest of the conversation, all of his muscles tensed. What came next? As soon as Merlin was gone, they could revive Arthur. They didn’t have much time before the antidote would lose effect, and Arthur really _would_ be dead. And all of this would be for nothing. 

Merlin blinked into the too-bright daylight as Gaius ripped the cloth covering away from his head. “What in the devil’s name was _that_?” Gaius’ voice was spiked with panic.

“I’m sorry! I just… I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Is the antidote ready?”

Gaius hurried over to the bench and grabbed the glass vial in trembling fingers. “You’d better give it to him,” he said. “My hand is not terrible steady right now.”

“Right,” Merlin said, and tipped the contents in Arthur’s mouth without a blink.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” he murmured, pressing his fingers to the side of Arthur’s throat to coax the antidote down. There was still a drop of antidote clinging to the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He pushed the drop in between Arthur’s lips with his index finger without thinking, before drawing his hand back as though burned.

Arthur just… laid there.

“Come _on_!” Merlin shouted. “It can’t have been too long, it can’t, _wake up_!”

Just before Merlin was about to smack him, Arthur coughed.

“Oh thank fuck,” Merlin muttered. Gaius threw him a strange look.

Arthur glared up at Merlin. “Did it work?”

“Which part?” Merlin asked, looking down at Arthur with a frown. “Did you notice you’re not dead?”

“You idiot… you said you were doing this because of an assassination attempt!”

“Well, like I said, you’re not dead, are you?”

Arthur grinned, and Merlin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Gaius cleared his throat. “I think we would all appreciate an explanation, _Merlin_.”

“Right. Explanation. This might take a while.” He side-eyed Arthur. Well. He’d done it in the future, hadn’t he? So, maybe he could do it here, too.

“So, the short version is, Arthur died and so I travelled through time to try to find a cure, failed, and decided to poison him myself so we could figure out why he died in the first place.”

“Travelled through time?” Arthur said, mouth dropping open.

“Um. Yes. Sorry. I’m magic?” He wiggled his fingers and rotated his wrists in what Gwaine had affectionately called _jazz hands_. New Gwaine, that is. He’d have to start distinguishing between them.

“I… _what_?” Arthur said, his mouth gaping open, before Gaius walloped him upside the head with a book on medicinal herbs. A very thorough book. With many pages.

“What was _that_ for?” Merlin asked, gaping.

“You intend to reveal your magic to Arthur? _Now_?” Gaius shook the encyclopaedia at him. “You idiot!”

“So you knocked him unconscious?”

“Better than having him inform his father, who is currently out for your blood, that you are a _sorcerer_!”

“Okay, maybe not my best thought out plan.”

Gaius sighed. “And what was this about you getting arrested?”

“Oh, right! Yes. They should be taking me to the dungeons about now. Oh, they might come here, actually. So you can confirm the cause of Arthur’s death.”

A knock sounded on Gaius’ door.

“Bollocks!” Merlin yelped. He’d really need to unlearn all this new vocabulary at some point. Curse New Gwaine and his filthy mouth. “Hide me!”

“Hide yourself!” Gaius hissed between clenched teeth, as he started walking towards the door.

Merlin dove for the door to his own chambers and slipped inside, heart pounding.

After a few moments, the soft sounds of voices stopped, and Merlin chanced a peek outside. Gaius’ room was empty, with Arthur lying limply on the bed, breaths shallow, and an untended potion simmering over a small fire. He moved fully into the room and went to stand by Arthur’s bedside.

Arthur stirred, groaning. “My _head_.”

“Arthur!” Merlin rushed over to him, his hands gently cradling the lump that had formed from _Medicinal Herbs and their Components_.

Arthur blinked up at Merlin. “I had the oddest dream…”

“Side effect of the poison,” Merlin lied. “How are you feeling?”

“I… terrible, actually.”

Merlin knelt next to the bed and gathered Arthur up in his arms. Maybe Arthur would have him thrown in the stocks for it; Merlin didn’t really care. “I’m glad.”

“You’re glad I feel terrible?” Arthur asked, chuckling, as his hands looped gently around Merlin’s back and squeezed back.

“It’s revenge for all the times you’ve made me feel terrible.”

Arthur pulled back. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He was smiling. “So, what’s the plan?”

Merlin swallowed. “Well, I’ll probably be arrested for your murder. So, prevent my execution, catch the real killer, if there is one—“

“If?” Arthur glared.

“You know how these rumours are, I mean…”

“Merlin, why do I constantly put my life in your hands?” He rolled his eyes.

“Just suicidal, I guess?”

Arthur punched him in the shoulder, then winced. “Oh, gods, my head. It didn’t hurt like this the last time we pulled this trick.”

Merlin flinched guiltily. “Maybe we brewed the antidote wrong.”

Arthur’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Was that a possibility? So I might not have woken up at _all_?”

“No!” Merlin blurted. “No, of course not!”

“You fill me with such confidence, Merlin,” Arthur proclaimed dryly, swinging his legs off the side of the bed as he did so. “It’s no wonder I keep you on as my servant.” He started ticking off traits on his hands. “Your stellar service, your natural grace, your punctuality… you never complain about the chores I assign…”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin said, but he was grinning.

The door opened, and Merlin ducked under the bed, but it was only Gaius. Arthur looked down at him with baffled amusement, but Gaius only sighed noisily. “I have just spoken with the king. He believes you are dead.”

Arthur sighed. “Well, I’m not. Can you get him down here so we can explain?”

Gaius’ eyes flickered to Merlin’s momentarily. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“He wants to arrest me, yeah?” Merlin stood up and brushed off his knees. “Well, perhaps I should go down to the dungeons, then.”

“What?” Arthur asked. “No! What’s wrong with you?”

“You ask me that question every day, Arthur, I’d think you’d know by now—“

“Shut up, Merlin, I’m not letting you go to the dungeons.”

Merlin turned towards Arthur, letting one hand settle on top of his shoulder. Arthur looked up at him from where he sat. “Would you let them execute me for a crime I did not commit?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about.”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur growled.

And it was that one word, more than anything, that let Merlin know he was home.

“ _Ar_ thur.”

Arthur stood, brushing Merlin’s hand away. “Fine, have it your way. It’ll be your own fault if my father chops your head off in a fit of rage before I get the chance to talk him out of it.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, not bothering to hide his grin.

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Come, Merlin. Don’t dawdle.”

“Why am I lying about this?” Gaius asked, not for the first time.

“Because he’s… I’m… too grief-stricken to understand anything else.”

“This story is preposterous.”

“It’s emotional! It’ll appeal to his… my… uhhh. What was I saying?”

“Merlin!” Gaius hissed. “I’m never going to remember this.”

“Look, let’s just do a trial run. It’ll be easy.”

“Fine. Merlin. I have a spell for you.”

“That was a terrible start, but fine. Oh, Gaius! I’m so sad! I deserve to die! I can’t live if I’m without Arthur!”

Gaius stood there for a moment, lifting his eyebrows. Merlin couldn’t see them very well in the semi-darkness, but the flickering torches lining the dungeon walls cast long shadows over Gaius’ face, making them appear even bushier than normal.

“Come on, it’s your line.”

“You’re ridiculous. Merlin! Take this spell.”

“No spells can help me when Arthur’s already dead.”

“This one can. It’s… it belonged to Balinor.”

“My father?”

“Yes, I got it from him when… Merlin, how would he have even given this to me? I haven’t seen him since he left for Ealdor!”

“The details are irrelevant, Gaius. Stick to the story.”

Gaius sighed. “Balinor used this to save your mother’s life. It stands to reason that you can use it to save Arthur in the same way.”

“How?”

“How what?” Gaius grimaced at Merlin. There was a soft rustle from the guard’s room, and they both froze. “How long are they going to stay asleep, did you say?”

“Practically until dawn. It’s fine. I tested this spell on Gwaine, once.”

Gaius sighed. “Merlin, you—“

“Yes, yes, be more careful. How did Balinor save my mother?”

Gaius frowned. “He… travelled in time?”

“No, you can’t say that, I won’t understand what that means.”

“Are you finally admitting to being thick-headed?”

“No! I’m _grief-stricken_! Give me a break! Other me, that is.”

“Then what am I supposed to say?”

Merlin scrubbed his palm across his face. If only he could remember that conversation with Gaius. It was all a blur at this point. “Just say he used it to bring my mum back to life. You don’t know the details.”

“Fine,” Gaius said. “We don’t have much time before someone comes down to check on you.”

“I know,” Merlin said. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

“ _What_?” Gaius asked, his nose scrunched up in bafflement.

“Um, never mind.”

There was some desperate mumbling, and Gaius wandered back a few minutes later, looking noticeably relieved. “It appears that he believed my story.”

“Good. Now we just have to wait for him to cast the spell.”

Gaius glanced nervously towards the guardroom. “Perhaps I should return to my quarters?”

Merlin nodded absently. The noises coming from other-Merlin’s cell had stopped. Maybe he had already fallen asleep?

As Gaius hiked back to his quarters, Merlin snuck into the cell block where other-Merlin was staying. He found him lying on the floor, unconscious, spell gripped in his fist and tears streaking his cheeks.

“Oh,” Merlin whispered. He unlocked the cell with a whispered _onlúcan_ , slipped inside, and sat down next to other-Merlin, cradling his head in his lap.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, running his fingers through his hair. “This will all be better in the morning. You’ll see.” He pried Merlin’s fingers loose from the spell and smoothed it out on the stone so that he could read the words.

With a deep breath, he started reciting the spell that would send himself to witness Arthur’s death. Perhaps it was what started this whole mess. Or maybe it had always been meant to go this way, in an endless loop. It didn’t really matter either way.

When Merlin woke up the next morning, he was alone in the cell, and Arthur was looming over him.

“I think Gwen’s angry with me,” he commented blandly, as Merlin blinked his eyes in the early morning light.

“Oh?”

“She cried and hit me when she found out I was alive.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, stretching. “That’s all right then. I thought she would do worse. You certainly deserved it.”

Arthur grinned. “I don’t have to let you out, you know.”

Merlin pushed out his lower lip and batted his eyelashes. “But then who would muck your stables?”

Arthur laughed, the sunlight streaming behind him and framing his face and torso. Merlin drank in his fill.

“Idiot,” Arthur said, when he’d stopped laughing.

“Prat,” Merlin replied.

“There are worse things to be.”

 _Yeah_ , thought Merlin. “So you going to let me out, prat?”

“Maybe.”

When he got back to his chambers, he unfolded the magic spell that he’d slipped into his pocket, smoothed out the creases, and sandwiched it between the pages of his spell book. He had a long way to go before he’d get the chance to return it.

Three weeks later, Merlin was sitting in the armoury scrubbing at Arthur’s breastplate and replaying his kiss with New Arthur. Would he forgive him for leaving without saying goodbye? Technically, Merlin wouldn’t disappear; he’d just become Kay. Would his feelings have changed by then?

He wasn’t really paying attention when the door opened and shut, or even when a shadow fell across the platemail he was polishing, but he definitely noticed when someone cuffed him upside the head and flopped to the floor beside him.

“If I didn’t know you better,” said Gwaine, “I’d say you were avoiding me.”

“Am not,” said Merlin.

“That would be more convincing if you weren’t bright red right now,” Gwaine pointed out.

“Look, it’s just…”

Well. Maybe Merlin couldn’t tell Arthur about his magic. But he could tell someone.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow and waited, his smirk growing wider the longer Merlin sat there fidgeting.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Gwaine nodded solemnly. “I give my word, on the grave of my father, and the ample bosom of my mother, that I shall never breathe a word of what you say.”

Merlin snorted. “Right. I may have been avoiding you, but it’s only because you have a rubbish sense of humour.”

“My jokes are hilarious; it’s the rest of the world that has a poor sense of humour.”

Merlin sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself, got to his feet, and walked over to the armoury door. Gwaine followed his movements with his eyes but said nothing.

Once Merlin had locked the door, he cast a silencing spell so no one could eavesdrop.

Gwaine grinned wide as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. “About time.”

A wave of relief washed through Merlin and he grinned back. “Now. Have you ever heard of time travel?”

Gwaine shook his head and grabbed a pile of furs from a nearby shelf, settling back and stretching out his legs.

Merlin smiled and returned to the platemail, picking his cloth back up and turning to face Gwaine. “I was the one to poison Arthur.”

Gwaine frowned. “He said he’d worked alone. And you were so shocked when he died. You couldn’t have been in on it.”

Merlin nodded. “I wasn’t, at the time.”

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin hadn’t even gotten to the description of Kay yet, and Percy started banging on the door because he needed to get his practice sword.

Over the next few days, Gwaine and Merlin took to wandering the castle grounds after supper.

“So, in conclusion, you really need to tumble Percy already,” Merlin said, his mouth full of stolen sausages from the kitchens.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “That was terrible, Merlin. I can’t believe I waited a fortnight to get to the moral of the story.“

Merlin interrupted with an affronted, “Only twelve days!” Gwaine ignored him.

“I figured you’d be spouting off some nonsense about the _power of love_ ,” and at this Gwaine waved his hands and pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of Love with a Capital L, “not telling me that I need to get laid.”

“I’m serious! If New Gwaine did it, why not you?”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?”

Merlin swallowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Gwaine said, smirking, and Merlin stuffed the rest of his sausage in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to respond.

“So when are you going to tumble Arthur?” Gwaine asked, his tone mild.

Merlin chewed thoughtfully, swallowing after a long pause. “It may be a while. But don’t worry. It’ll happen eventually.”

“In the meantime, do you want to give me a go?” Gwaine asked, leering.

“Not in a million years.”

Merlin supposed he deserved the shove.

Arthur’s boat shimmered in the distance, growing hazy as it slid towards Avalon. Merlin felt numb.

It was dark now, Arthur long gone, and still Merlin stood, shivering slightly as the cold dark surrounded him. Every part of him ached. His ankles. His elbows. His earlobes. His nostrils, even. 

Merlin wasn’t sure how long he stood there, letting the dark grow steadily thicker, folding him into itself, the stars shining in a swath of sky, reflected in the gentle ripples of the lake below. As the night descended, Merlin let himself be wrapped up in the soft sounds of owls hooting and the rustling of leaves, the cold bite of the wind against his cheeks, the occasional spray of water from the surface of the lake, the smell of earth and water and leaves on the ground. Still, he kept returning to the memory of Arthur’s blood, a tangy copper that filled Merlin’s nose and permeated his head and chest until he could not breathe through the thick cloying taste as Arthur filled his lungs and his brain and his mouth.

Merlin closed his eyes and cleared his mind of Arthur’s last moments.

Instead, he thought of cottage pie, data entry, and cooking classes; of watered-down ale, pumpkin muffins, and charred hot dogs; of blue eyes, golden hair, and laugh lines.

“Who was it?” called out a familiar voice, and Merlin turned around slowly.

It was still strange to see himself. He didn’t think he’d ever really get used to it.

“Freya?”

“No,” Merlin said. “Suppose you want me to send you back?”

“Did you… need me to send you somewhere?”

For a moment, he was tempted; his past self could send him to the past, to see Arthur again. He could try to change things, prevent his death. But it wouldn’t really change anything, would it? Arthur would always die, in the end.

He could go to the future instead, if he wanted. He could visit Kay and claim his happy-ever-after working in Gwaine’s cafe. But no matter how many times he tried to run away from destiny, it always caught up with him, in the end. Besides, if something went wrong — if one or both of them somehow bungled the spell — then they would both be stranded in time. Best not to risk it.

“Why do you think he sent you here?” he asked, instead.

In the morning, Merlin woke alone. The sun rose over the lake, rays rippling pink and gold over its surface. He stood, stretched, and started the long journey into the future.

At least he had something to look forward to.


	12. Epilogue

Merlin was still staring at the spot where his younger self had disappeared, contemplating walking back to camp so that he could grill another hot dog, when his mobile rang.

“Bollocks,” he muttered under his breath, and fumbled for the phone in the front pocket of his overcoat. “Yes, hello?”

“Kay?” Gwaine’s voice was grainy. “Is Merlin still with you?”

Merlin sighed. “No, he… I’m sorry. He went back. To save Arthur.”

“Oh.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Is he… ever going to come back?”

Merlin cleared his throat. “Erm. About that…” He fumbled in his jacket for his cigarettes. He supposed he’d have to quit, now. “I owe you a chocolate stout. Meet you at the Excalibur in ten?”

“I’m working today. Besides, even I don’t get pissed this early in the day.”

Merlin glanced down at his wristwatch. “Meet at the Avalon, then? I’ll buy you a muffin.”

He could practically hear Gwaine rolling his eyes over the phone. “Right, because I can’t just pop in the back and _eat one_.”

Merlin frowned. “Is that why Percy is always smacking your hands away from the pastries?”

“No, _Merlin_ , that’s because he’s a cruel man and lives to torture me. Much like someone else I know.”

Merlin froze. “What?”

“What what?”

“You just called me Merlin.”

“Oh, that. Sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?” Gwaine sounded like he was smirking, the smug bastard.

Merlin hung up and lit another cigarette.

  
**  
_Notification: Incoming text message from Gwaine Fairbanks_   
**   


**_Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _Meet at the cafe at 1300_  
 ** _Kay Emrys:_** _Roger_  
 ** _Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _BTW Arthur’s coming_  
 ** _Kay Emrys:_** _What_  
 ** _Kay Emrys:_** _No_  
 ** _Kay Emrys:_** _I still look like I’m 70!_  
 ** _Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _Guess you’d better fix that before 1300 then_  
 ** _Kay Emrys:_** _YOU ARE SUCH AN ASS_  
 ** _Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _Oh, and lunch is on you_  
 ** _Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _Also beer_  
 ** _Gwaine Fairbanks:_** _Lots of beer_


End file.
